


Brother, Brother, Father Sun

by EllenofX



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Baby Blasters, Backstory, Bad Parenting, But nobody came..., Do Not Read This Fic For Tips On Pet Or Child Care, Dubious Morality, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grillby being an unintentional asshole, Grillby fucks up a lot, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Medical Torture, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Multi, Other, Past Abuse, Recovery, Someone anyone help!, W. D. Gaster Being An Asshole, WAY more hurt then comfort, You wanna have a bad time?, accidental abuse, baby bones au, poor/lazy writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:25:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenofX/pseuds/EllenofX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Grillby hadn’t expressly wanted a dog…</b><br/>But he gets more than he bargained for after bringing in a starving stray from his back alleyway. The animal is skittish, excitable, and prone to biting and generally getting itself into trouble. Despite this, the dog and the bartender have made a certain peace with each other when series of events leads Grillby to realize two things: His dog had an abusive past and his dog <i>isn’t an animal</i>.<br/>Grillby hadn’t expressly wanted a child…<br/>But he has one in his care. Now the question is, what will he do?<br/><b>About the AU</b>: Short version is this - Papyrus and Sans were created by Gaster (or another scientist) in order to somehow escape from the underground. As it happens, they can also transform into Gaster Blasters. Yay!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aschere

**Author's Note:**

> **Hello there!**  
>  [EDIT 8/26/2016] **This fic now has a flippipy-frackin' audio version over on Soundcloud thanks to the amazing[eyeless_artist](https://soundcloud.com/eyeless-artist)!**  
>  So, I’ve written in this AU a bit before… And by “a bit”, I mean 30+ chapters posted and no end in sight, LOL! Since my other fic, [“One Day T[he]y…”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5759959/chapters/13271785) is getting rather complex and will be put on hiatus for a while, I wanted to post an additional (much simpler) story over the time it won’t be updating. It requires no previous reading and is a much different story, but admittedly I hope to entertain readers of T[he]y.  
> Anyway, it’s probably best if you just jump in and read! I hope you enjoy, and if you can, leave me a comment or two.   
> **Thanks!**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Posed in the “Paint me like one of your French girls, Jack” manner*  
> How _you_ doin’?  
>  *Mischievous eyebrow waggle*  
> You want some Baby Blasters fun time? Welp, here you are.  
>  **If you enjoy, please, leave me a comment. It’d really make my day, particularly if there’s something you can point out that you really liked or really _didn’t_ like.**  
>  Thanks!

Grillby hadn’t expressly wanted a dog, he just… ended up with one.

Honestly, it was a complete trick of fate that it happened, as he was halfway home after a particularly brutal night of work when he remembered that he had forgotten to take out the garbage.

“For fucking surface sake-” The bartender cursed to himself, stopping in the snow to look back at his restaurant with exasperation. He was half-tempted to keep walking, damn the trash anyway, but the entire reason he’d forgotten to take it out earlier in the day was because he’d gotten a stretch of bungee cable to loop the can shut and a padlock for the dumpster. He’d been having a lot trouble with vermin lately, and the _last_ thing he wanted to worry about after a night like this was picking up scattered rubbish in the morning. Besides, he reasoned to himself, it was a lovely, clear night, without any falling snow or wind to make the extra little jaunt uncomfortable for the elemental. Might as well take advantage of it.

That didn’t keep him from releasing a pained groan about it as he turned back the way he came, though. And another as he got to the alleyway, locking mechanisms in hand, only to find the garbage already riffled through.

His flames crackled in irritation as he started cleaning, the only thing that kept him from sparking in frustration the thought of sleeping in the next morning. It was his “day off” for the week, though that was a misnomer since he still served lunch through dinner, but nonetheless it would give him a chance to relax and forget all about Punk Hamster wrecking the jukebox (again) and Leveret’s drunk-bunny shenanigans. Tonight, she’d managed to spill her entire white rabbit on him, and while the alcohol burned off easily, the milk in the drink had not only stung like a right-proper-sonofabitch, but also left his shirt with both a large stain and a lingering curdled smell. It was… unpleasant to say the least.

Grillby was glowering on this, still hunched over and picking up waste when a thrill went through him, unfamiliar magic shivering up his arm in the dark. It was faint, but still caught his attention, shocking him out of his thoughts and forcing him to look at what his fingers had brushed against. Was that… Bone? The elemental was familiar the way the ivory ossein caught his light, and in this isolated setting the realization caught him off guard, causing his flames to flare for a moment as he looked at the scene before him with new eyes.

He’d been about to prop up a stack of collapsed and crumpled boxes, but realized now that there was a form huddled beneath it, not so much hidden as ignored by his sour mood and rush to get home. The elemental stood, taking a wary step away and watching the motionless pile for a while, the clear night suddenly ominous in its stillness.

“Hello?” The bartender asked, hoping for a response that would keep him from having to investigate further. He got none. He swallowed before resolving to look beneath, then inched forward, grabbing the lowest box he could and lifting up. 

What he found beneath alarmed him, and at first he had approached the strange, skeletal creature with a mindful hesitation. It was obviously magical in constitution, and he didn’t want any stray bullets aimed at him for no good reason. But it was much smaller than the mound had indicated, and the elemental willed himself closer, eventually pushing on the animal’s shoulder with the tip of his shoe to see if it would rouse at all. Nothing happened, save for a small twitch of a forelimb, and he found himself kneeling above to get a better look at the canine-like characteristics of the beast.

The skull shape in general was very dog-ish, though distorted with pointed ridges that curved backwards, almost horn-like. The muzzle was long and heavy set, comparable to that of a mountain dog, teeth chipped and worn for reasons unknown to the bartender, but related, perhaps, to its diet. The rib cage warped out sideways further then it seemed it should, and the spinal column thickened with ridges similar to those that adhered to the skull. The whole thing seemed densely built despite its small size, though many of its proportions were off, particularly the head and paws which seemed much, much too large for the rest of its body… Like a puppy’s. The feet in particular caught his attention, as the toes were oddly shaped, allowing long, sharp-looking claws to be retracted over the rest of the foot, similar to a cat.

Overall, two things about the creature struck Grillby: That it was immature, and that he had no idea what _it_ was. He was going to call it a dog, though, because calling it something made him feel better.

Grillby searched for signs of intelligence or identification, but found none. The dog was simply sprawled on top of a wet piece of cardboard, shivering pitifully in the cold with no explanation as to how it came here. He stood to look at their surroundings, core contorting in pity at the scene. Footprints muddied the alleyway, tracing repeatedly around his now-empty trashcan, and he realized that this was the creature responsible for the night raids. It must’ve been desperate, only trying to survive, and he remembered with a surprising measure of regret that there hadn’t been much food waste left from the night before. He’d just gotten a new shipment in, and the majority of the trash had been packaging… Probably how the thing had managed to bury itself in boxes to begin with, as the bartender generally did a better job disposing of them.

“Ah, shit,” the elemental said, realizing he couldn’t just _leave_ it here. Or rather, that he _could_ , but it would ruin him if he found dust in the morning. Of course, he wasn’t certain it wasn’t falling already, but… Well, he had to at least try, right? What would he do if it was someone’s lost pet? Or worse, that he had guessed wrong and it was, itself, intelligent? Grillby had sighed and stooped to pick up the animal, which was lighter than he expected, and shrugged off his night of irritation before carrying it back to his home.

\---

He was on the verge of regretting that decision, made on impulse in the night.

“Well, you damn foolish thing!” Grillby scolded as the animal yelped in pain and jumped back, shaking a layer of gray ash from its teeth, “Don’t bite me, aye? _What_ a _thought_.”

The creature let loose a high-pitched growl, cowering against the back of the bathtub as it tried to crawl the smooth white surface away from him. The elemental had put it there for the night, not really knowing what else to do, leaving it with a bed of half-folded towels until the morning and closing the door behind him. It seemed like the safest place for it, clean, contained, and with the added benefit of easy clean up should it make a mess. Even if the animal could jump out of the tub, it’d still be trapped in the restroom, which seemed like a reasonable location for it.

As the canine continued to panic, Grillby sighed, debating what to do. He didn’t want to try to get a hold of it again while it was acting like this – it would just bite him again, and that’d cause both of them some pain. So, he waited a moment, hoping the creature would calm on its own, his frustration with it for biting him fading quickly, replaced by mild shame. He should’ve known better then to just _reach_ for the frightened animal like that. As it kept scrabbling up the walls, he decided to try talking to it the same way someone might try to becalm a frightened horse.

“Hey, hey, hey… Relax, okay? I’m not going to hurt you, I never was…” He said, slowly and deliberately, “Just wanted to get you out of the bathtub is all. At least you seem lively enough, I guess. For a little while I was worried you’d keel right over as soon as I got you home. Heh… What, are you actually listening to me?”

It seemed like the dog was, having paused, its head to one side to listen to the elemental. When he stopped, it whined again, paws tapping as it stepped from side to side. Grillby tilted his head in response, mimicking the animal, and smiled.

“Huh…” He said, considering the thought more carefully before he dismissed it. Generally, intelligent dogs didn’t bite unless much younger than this one, and besides he didn’t hear any Pekingese in its vocalizations. While he wasn’t fluent in the language, he liked to think he’d be able to catch a word or two if the puppy was speaking in it, but its whines and growls seemed to contain no meaning beyond emotion. Additionally, any dog that had so much trouble communicating would surely have identification affixed to it. Still, it was funny that talking to the beast should work so well, assuming this wasn’t a fluke. He’d have to pay more attention if it freaked out again.

“ _Well_ ,” He said, shifting forward to try to reach into the tub again, “If you like being talked to, then I’ll talk to you, alright? I don’t really know what to say to an animal.”

“I mean, _hell_ …” The animal flinched back as he reached towards it, and Grillby paused to let it sniff his hand before continuing his advance. “Normally I don’t know what to say to another monster. Part of why I’m a good bartender, I assume – more of a listener, kind of like you, mutt.”

The dog kept startling every time Grillby moved or touched it, but didn’t try to run as it had at first. While it did snap its jaws once more, this seemed to be in general protest as he wrapped an arm around its ribcage and pulled it towards him, saying, “Anyway, how about we get you out of there?”

The dog struggled as he picked it up, making a strangled sound halfway between a growl and whine, but didn’t nip at him again. It took only a moment for Grillby to boost it over the tub’s side, and as soon as its paws hit the ground it bolted away from him and paced the door, clawing at the wood and whimpering. Grillby watched it for a moment, then took a deep breath and stood, bracing himself for what was about to happen before he opened the bathroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Oh, hey! You made it this far!**  
>   
>  …  
> *sweats*  
> …  
> N-Neat!
> 
> Today’s chapter title is brought to you by [ Sirius, the dog star!](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sirius)
> 
> Also, here! Have a timeline. :3
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> N/A  
> Chapter 1: **Night 0 - Morning 1** After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash. To his great displeasure, he finds the culprit – an unconscious, immature skeletal creature he decides to pretend is a “dog”. And, since he’s not a piece of shit, goes, “Ah, fuck… Well, can’t let the miserable thing freeze to death, not can I?” and takes it home. It wakes the next morning with a bit of a bad attitude, but despite this our elemental friend manages to corral it for the moment…1785 words.  
>  **Okay, bye! Leave me comments if you can! Have a nice day!**


	2. Onomatopoeia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter riddled with noise. Grillby and the dog play cat and mouse, much to the bartinder’s displeasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Wowie! You’re still here?  
> Huh… Weird.  
> Welp, guess I better give you more “A dog and his Bartender” fun times, right? Before I do, though, maybe you should check [this](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg) out. That’s right – I made Grillby a house! It’s not really to scale, mind you, and a lot of furniture and stuff is missing, but at least you can get a feel for what we’re dealing with now.  
> Anyway, thank you for reading, and if you can please leave me a comment!

Grillby _had_ predicted that the dog would make a break for it once the door was open. What he had not predicted was it throwing itself at the smallest crack as he opened it. 

_WHAM!_ It went, pulling his arm suddenly, painfully taut as the door jerked forward. _WHAM-WHAM!_ The dog was using all of its weight, blindly hurling itself forward and bludgeoning its skull against the door with a screeching whine. Grillby let go of the door, and it _whooshed_ open, and there was a cacophony of clicks and rattles as the animal burst forth, clattering out of sight.

“Shit!” Grillby swore, following immediately. 

He was a little jarred by the experience, eyes wide and shoulders tight as he stepped into the short pseudo-hallway that connected the rest of his house to the bathroom and bedrooms. He was glad he thought to close the bedroom doors, watching as the dog surged around the living room, flipping up one of his throw rugs as it followed the outside wall. He stopped a moment, at a loss, the animal curving in and out of sight. He knew he had to recapture it, but didn’t have the first fucking idea how he was going to manage that. 

At the speed it was running, it sure as hell didn’t _seem_ injured, but the force it hit the door with had left the elemental’s hand numb and he didn’t rescue the damn thing only to have it dust because it busted its head open trying to get away from him.

Just as he reached up a hand to massage his temples, there was a mad scrabbling from the kitchen, and he hurried forward to see what had happened. The dog had raced in from the adjoining room, hit the tile, and fell, sliding gracelessly until it hit the rubber mat Grillby generally stood on while cooking. Limbs flailing, it struggled to right itself again, but as soon as it was up, it was off and racing again. When Grillby stepped in front of it, it peeled away, and things went on like this for a little while before the dog stopped abruptly in the television area, shaking as it started hacking.

The animal had a fairly severe cough which left it unguarded as it wheezed, trying to catch its breath. Taking advantage of the situation, Grillby tried to sneak up on it, but it started, scurrying off to the kitchen before sitting on the mat that had saved it earlier and watching Grillby warily. It was panting, and the elemental and the animal found themselves at an impasse, both knowing they could continue the game of cat and mouse but not really wanting to. They were tired, and perhaps equally concerned with whether the dog could continue without hurting itself.

Grillby sat on the edge of the couch and just watched the creature for a while, perched forward, elbows resting on his knees as he debated what to do. When the dog started hacking again, he seized his opportunity, but it managed to trot off, boney-whip of a tail tucked between its legs as it looked at him over its shoulder accusingly. He followed it, slowly, noticing that it now seemed to retreat only as fast as he approached. They circled around the stairwell a couple times before the animal started forward, going to the front door to scratch at it plaintively. It glanced back at Grillby, who had paused for a moment by the dining room table (which they’d danced around earlier, Grillby having momentarily cornered the dog near the fireplace), before resuming its scratching a little more desperately.

The dog whined, pressing its nose to the bottom of door and running its claws along the crack before bowling over its entire body to scrape and kick against the door. Grillby took a step forward, then another, expecting the animal to stand and evade him once again, but it didn’t seem to notice him over its own cries of increasing frustration and fear. He was only a step or two away when it jumped upright, turning towards him. 

Grillby automatically held his arms out as wide as they could go, ready to make a dive for either direction the beast decided to break for. When it didn’t move, he reconsidered, knowing if he tried to go for it directly it would have ample room to escape. If he could just make it a _little bit_ further…

“Woah,” he said, his voice deep and throaty as he tried something that seemed… Obvious, in retrospect. “ **Stay**.”

The dog’s head snapped up to his face and it whined, flinching a little, something about the way its bones shifted giving it the impression of tensed muscles.

“ **Stay** ,” Grillby repeated, making his voice as calm-but-commanding as possible. He took a step forward and the animal didn’t move an inch. Another step and he knelt beside it, frowning as he reached out, realizing that the dog had to have been someone’s pet since it was trained… Not very well, he reminded himself, thinking back to the biting.

The animal cringed back from his hand, pressing itself further in the corner of the wall and the door, letting out something that was between a whimper and a rumble and sounded very frightened. Still, it didn’t try to run, and Grillby was grateful for that. As soon as he actually touched it, however, the spell was broken, and beast tried to get away. Grillby snagged it mid-air as it leapt to get past him, wrapping an arm around to hold the dog firmly as it struggled. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to go far, as he’d set up his old dog’s crate in the center corner of the living room, just a few feet away from the door. Giving the dog a quick once-over, he decided it was unharmed and pushed it inside, barely registering a bright flash of reflected light as he hurried to close the door quickly behind it. It whirled around and bashed its muzzle into the thick metal mesh, causing Grillby to flinch back and wince sympathetically before sitting on the floor to watch the animal. He leaned around the cage, hoping to find what glinted earlier before glancing to the clock. He groaned, briefly looking at the dog before dismissing his investigation as unimportant. For all he knew, he had simply been mistaken and it was the cage glinting in the light.

“Sorry, Puppy-pup,” He said, and the animal whined at him, turning in the cage and scraping the lattice-like metal knotting only once or twice before settling itself with a huff. “I know it sucks, but I’ve got to go to work and I don’t want you getting yourself into trouble around here, alright? I’ll let you out as soon as I get home… It should only be a few hours. And I’ll ask around at the bar, see if anyone knows anything about you.”

The dog only responded with a cold, sad glare, and Grillby frowned, realizing he hadn’t given the thing anything to rest on. Ah, well… It had water, and he’d be sure to remember next time. Right now, it was already fifteen minutes past opening and he hadn’t prepped anything for the lunch rush. Plus, it seemed comfortable enough, curling up as dogs do and resting its head on its forelimbs.

\---

When Grillby opened the door after work, the animal started screaming. Somehow, the damn thing had managed not only to knock the cage over from the inside, but one of its unconventional, boney legs had slipped through the metal mesh, leaving the dog’s entire weight to pin the limb beneath it. The elemental rushed over immediately, righting the cage and guiding the bruised forearm back to its owner. It looked like no serious damage was done, but this didn’t keep the dog from carrying on about it, and the elemental hissed in frustration, fearing that he hadn’t noticed some damage due to how briefly he looked at the leg. He opened the door, and with little grace or decency hauled the animal out to look at it.

“Aye! Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, for fuck’s sake, dog…” He scolded sharply when the animal snapped at him again, turning the animal sharply to look it in the eyes. “What, _exactly_ , is wrong with you? I’ll tell you what – nothing, alright? You’re fine.”

He let it go, giving the dog a push as he did so that the animal didn’t have a chance to turn and bite him. It tore away, claws scraping against the floor as it went to hide behind the coffee table and knocking against it, causing a gleam of florescence to reflect off the glass surface. From there, it crouched, ready to spring away and watched him, letting loose the occasional growl of frightened complaint and lowering its head. Grillby just watched it, tired from work and wondering what he was going to do with such a creature.

Grillby firmly believed that dogs _should not bite_. It made the animal a danger to everyone, including itself. What the fuck would he do if it nabbed a kid? Or an old person, someone already near falling? Even if the monster was fine in the end, the elemental viewed the mere possibility as completely unacceptable. In fact, aggression was the only thing he would consider physically punishing an animal for… However, he could recognize that the beast _wasn’t_ vicious, just afraid, and you couldn’t really train fear biters out of it. Grillby knew that. 

The best you could do was desensitize the dog as much as possible and watch them like a hawk for the rest of their life. Animals like that were a liability - worth it, sometimes, but Grillby wondered who in their right mind would take a dog like that off his hands.

Of course, there was another possibility, since the mutt clearly wasn’t a case of dominance aggression. A dog in pain might bite, no matter how friendly, and the thought made Grillby rub his neck with potential shame. The animal _had_ had its foot caught, and even though it seemed to function just fine, that didn’t mean it wasn’t sore. Still, this was the second time the animal had tried to get him… Was there an injury he’d missed? The canine didn’t act like it was wounded with how fast it moved, but maybe the biting issue would solve itself with time if it _was_ hurt, as the injury healed.

Thinking of healing, nothing helped for that process in the underground quite like food did. Neither he nor the dog had eaten all day, so the elemental pushed himself up to sate himself. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, the bartender conceded to himself. As a cook, it was his duty to taste-test occasionally… Still, if he was hungry, then the animal had to be starving.

Grillby snagged the carryout container he’d made for himself from beside the door and left it on the table before searching his cupboard for an appropriately sized bowl for dog food. Finding one, he also grabbed a towel to toss over the spilled water before leaving the dog food on the floor, halfway between the coffee table and the dining room table. He shook it once before putting it down, trying to show the dog what it was, before eagerly returning to his own meal.

For its part, the mongrel continued to shrink in its hiding place before sniffing the air, then slinked out after Grillby had settled and started eating to investigate the dish. It whined, kept sniffing, and… Grillby broke eye contact as soon as the dog looked at him, looking instead at his own meal. He heard a couple clicks as the thing shifted its position, then _crunch_ as it ate the first kibble. The elemental relaxed and went back to his meal, only to pause again a few seconds later when there was a second, singular, _crunch_. He looked up to the dog.

It was eating very slowly, one kibble at the time, and kept glancing up at him. Part of Grillby wanted to say it was just the animal’s caution of him that caused the behavior, but he’d seen puppy-dog eyes before and right now a set of them were boring into his core. Besides, when it saw him looking in its direction, it started sniffing again, eyes wandering to the table before it shrank back again, falling into submissive posture. He tried to return to eating when - _crunch-crunch_ …

The elemental swore under his breath. Really? He was letting a dog guilt trip him, wasn’t he? At least it had sped up eating a little, appetite probably getting the best of it.

_Crunch-crunch-crunch… crunch._

The noise alone certainly didn’t make the dog kibble sound edible, though Dogamy had assured him it was the best stuff available for the price. If members of the royal guard could stand it, then surely this creature would survive. He took another bite and _of course_ there was another dry, horrible _crunch_ to accompany it.

Rolling his eyes at himself, Grillby tried to rationalize. He didn’t know when the thing had last eaten something other than his trash, and didn’t want it further complicating his life by barfing if he gave it too rich a food. So, naturally, he should take his friend’s suggestion and prevent further bad behavior by keeping the creature on a strict diet… On the other hand, he didn’t much care for mashed potatoes anyway. Too moist. Grillby had only taken them because they were left overs, and he was not one to waste food lightly.

With a theatrical groan, the elemental got up and went to the bowl, the canine dancing away from him to watch from a distance as he scraped the unwanted food into its dish. The potatoes landed with a mushy splat, mixing with the brown pebbles in a way that made it seem even less appealing to Grillby. Grimacing, he went back to sit at the table, his attention split between finishing his meal and watching the dog. 

It came over, sniffing intensifying as it neared the bowl. Standing over its food, the animal sniffed one last time before its gaze locked on Grillby. It blinked once, as if stunned, before digging in with ravenous abandon. 

Huh. At least one of them liked mashed potatoes. 

The man of fire shook his head at the thought, at the dog, at the world, and at himself before stabbing a small bite with his fork and popping it in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, what? You again?  
> …Wow.  
> Um, hiya! You made it to the end again! Cheers!
> 
> Today’s chapter brought to you by [Sizzle – It sounds like what it is!](http://www.dictionary.com/browse/onomatopoeia)
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> N/A  
> Chapter 1: **Night 0 - Morning 1** After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash. To his great displeasure, he finds the culprit – an unconscious, immature skeletal creature he decides to pretend is a “dog”. And, since he’s not a piece of shit, goes, “Ah, fuck… Well, can’t let the miserable thing freeze to death, not can I?” and takes it home. It wakes the next morning with a bit of a bad attitude, but despite this our elemental friend manages to corral it for the moment…1785 words.  
>  Chapter 2: **Morning 1 - Evening 1** Grillby and the puppy aren’t getting along so well at first, but luckily Grillby has a high tolerance for stupidity and some past experience with dogs. Though things aren’t going great between the two, it seems the dog has previously been trained by someone, as it responds to commands and seems to like to be talked to. Additionally, the little shit has managed to convince the elemental to feed it table scrapes. What could possibly go wrong? 2434 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comment if you can, please! Have a splendid day!


	3. Boil That Dust Speck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s going to be roped, he’s… Already been caged… Hmm…  
> Grillby tried to take the dog on walkies. It doesn’t go great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you’re like still reading this and everything?  
> Neato, chum. Thanks. I hope you enjoy.  
> I think this is a boring chapter, so here’s a link to something more entertaining, if you haven’t already read much of Hyperbole and a Half:  
> [Dogs Don’t Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving](http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basic-concepts.html)  
> All of that blog’s posts are great, though I particularly recommend anything with the word “dog” in the title. The author also made a book, which is wonderful, and includes what might be the best “outdoor adventure” story ever told by humanity. In my opinion, at least.  
> 

Grillby opened the bathroom door carefully the next day, expecting to be charged by a particular canine. To his surprise, he found the beast still asleep beside the bathtub, the towels he had given it roughed into a rudimentary sort of nest. Seconds later, the animal’s nose twitched and it gave a whining yawn, opened its eyes, and started at the sight of him. Standing, it eyed him for a few moments, smelling the air and waiting, before shrinking back, head low with its tail still tucked between its legs in a submissive posture.

“Hello, dog.” Grillby started, feeling immensely stupid, “How are you today?”

The dog didn’t respond. If anything, it tried to back itself even further away from him. Ignoring that, the elemental scowled to himself and tried to embrace the whole “talking to the dog” thing.

“I’ve got to get to work early today,” He commented, taking a step back to slide down the guest bedroom’s door and sit in the hall. “By that, I mean I’m going to go in at the normal time. Also, I think you’re coming with me.”

From its corner, the creature whimpered.

“What?” Grillby asked, “It’s not so bad. You’ll have the whole back room to yourself, for shit’s sake.”

Nothing in response. Grillby watched the dog for a while, then sighed, tenting his fingers over his stomach and twiddling his thumbs. He had half an hour before they had to leave, maybe a little more. Monday was a slow day so he wasn’t too worried about prep time. Most of the canine unit wouldn’t have time to eat, having slept in, clinging to their last hours of free time, so the only early customer he was likely to have would be whoever had the weekend shift.

He was still a little groggy, so he closed his eyes, waiting for the dog to move. This was an exercise in futility, he knew that, but he had to at least try to make friends with the mutt. He figured he’d hear the creatures paw steps when it started moving, but minutes had passed, filled only with the gentle crackle of the man’s own flame. He cracked an eye open to find the animal still standing in the exact same position, sniffing the air and watching him.

“…Food in the living room,” he commented quietly, the animal twitching at the sound of his voice. Welp, this wasn’t going anywhere. Grillby rolled on to his hands and knees and crawled the short distance necessary to grab the dog food bowl. He returned to his position in the hallway, looking at the animal for a moment before giving the bowl a solid push in its direction.

The dog jumped and scrambled back as the bowl moved towards it, friction causing it to stop after only a couple of feet. The animal smelled the air more, seeming to realize what was going on as it cast a wary glance to the bartender. Tentatively, it moved forward, waited, moved forward again and then…

_Crunch-crunch._

Grillby rubbed his eyes, the dog pausing for a moment before deciding his action wasn’t a threat. He really should get going, but it was going to take the dog a while to finish, right? No, dogs ate fast. He was just making excuses. With a grunt, he hauled himself upright, glancing at the dog who was staring at him, having backed a couple steps away from its meal. Something really didn’t set right with him about that, how… fearfully the beast behaved, but he wasn’t about to worry about that too much. Hopefully someone would show up today looking for it and it wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

Heading to the living room, Grillby picked up the lead and harness. He didn’t think that a collar was the best way to go about walking the creature – he was concerned about it bolting and breaking its own damn neck – but the harness didn’t seem like that much better of an option. The neck loop was supposed to fit around flesh, for fuck sake, not a bare spinal column, and the chest portion presented its own difficulties. He thought he’d jerry-rigged something that would work, though, through a combination of willpower, knots, and ugly looking hand stitches made with embroidery thread, the pink coloration standing out strikingly against the black nylon straps. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had the stuff, particularly in that shade, and chose to believe that he’d bought a variety pack some long ago for one project or another and that color just had never been used. There was a _click-click_ behind him, and the bartender turned to find the dog watching him sheepishly from the hallway.

“Done already?” He said, “Good. Don’t suppose you know how to come, do you?”

The dog picked up its head and tilted it, as if in recognition.

“ **Come** ,” Grillby repeated, instinctively slipping into his dog training tone and adding the hand gesture. How long had it been since his last pet died?

The dog took a few steps forward obediently, then danced backwards, as though catching itself during the action. It made a little upset grunting noise, shaking its head as it shied away. Grillby could tell it was getting excited, in not in the happy-to-see-you, let’s-go-on-walkies way good dogs get, but the what-even-is-going-on, I’m-scared-how-do-I-even-dog way he’d never personally had to deal with, but had seen other pet owners struggle with handling. His hand tightened slightly around the harness, exasperation coloring his voice as he tried one more time to call the dog over.

“ **Come _here_.** ” he said, but the dog balked to cower lower, raising one paw to claw at the air as it quivered before switching to the other. It whined and snuffled pathetically, and Grillby decided to change tactics.

“ **Stay,** ” He said, hand raised in the universal sign of “stop”. The dog seemed to shudder as he approached, but held position until he started crouching down, when it bolted back into the bathroom. Quickly finding itself cornered, it stared at the elemental fearfully from the nook between the tub and toilet, eyes wide and black as pitch. Grillby frowned, repeating ‘stay’ in a somewhat softer, though still authoritative voice as he bridged the gap between them. When he finally laid hands on the dog, it was as if the damn thing melted, falling to its side to expose what would’ve been its belly. It barely moved as he touched it, strangely tense and limp at the same time, but let out quite the assortment of distressed noises ranging from the classic dog-whine to a terrified sounding trill.

“No need for that, you damn stupid thing…” the bartender muttered to himself, half picking the dog up as he manipulated it to put the harness on, “…making this a lot harder…”

With a set of sharp snaps from the harness clips, the dog was secured, and Grillby backed off to see how it would react. It didn’t at first, lying on the floor as if he’d killed it, and Grillby simply stood in the doorway observing it. With some sense of melancholy, Grillby realized the dog hadn’t actually finished its relatively small portion of food after all. Then the dog picked its head up, sniffed the harness, and flopped back to the floor. Its white iris’ had returned, swiveling up to eye Grillby plaintively as it let loose a high whisper of a whine.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” He said, more tired than exasperated, “You’re not paralyzed, I promise. Come on. Get up.”

The dog still just stayed there for a while. Grillby was about to give up and carry it when it finally moved, standing on trembling legs for a moment before experimentally attempting to chew on the nylon straps. It couldn’t really manage it, the one place it could potentially reach tightened just enough to slip between its rib bones. Grillby doubted that could be comfortable, but he didn’t know what else to do; at least this way if it pulled on the lead, more of the weight would be dispersed across its sternum than its neck vertebra. The dog kept gnawing, teeth scraping with an awful sound over its own ribs, causing the elemental to cringe before he went to get the leash.

The dog recoiled again when he came near, but less so this time, as if in recognition that there wasn’t any escape for it. He attached the lead to the harness and left the bathroom, pausing in the hallway for the dog to follow. When it didn’t, he debated a moment and changed his position.

“ **Heel** ,” he tried, but when the dog didn’t respond beyond a cursory glance at him, he applied gentle pressure through the lead. It wasn’t much more than the weight of his hand, but the animal started at it, staring up at him as though he’d just done a card trick as it took a stiff step forward. It moved awkwardly in the harness, clearly unused to the idea, but slowly Grillby was able to virtually reel the dog in to standing beside him. He looked down at it a moment, letting loose a little more slack only to have the beast snap and then mouth it uneasily. It spat the lead out, then looked at him, breaking eye contact as soon as it had made it.

“ **With me** ,” Grillby said, taking a small step forward. The leash didn’t quite have to pull before the animal took a shambling step after him, and Grillby smiled. This could actually work.

“ **With me** ,” The bartender repeated, uncertain if it was a command the dog knew or just coincidence and crossed the living room without much issue. Experimentally, they went around the stairwell a couple times, and once Grillby thought he had a handle on the dog’s behavior, headed for the door. The dog seemed to be a shy creature on a lead, much the same as matched its behavior elsewhere. It tended to lag further behind him then the bartender would’ve hoped, plodding uncomfortably in the harness, but otherwise seemed remarkably used to the idea of “follow the leader”… definitely not a feral animal. Teaching a dog to heel right took time, especially one as prone to fight or flight as this one.

“Whose are you, huh?” Grillby wondered out loud, not noticing the way the animal abruptly tensed at his words, too busy pulling open the door, “I bet they’re looking all over for y-”

Grillby nearly tripped and fell taking his first step out the door, the dog shooting out beneath him and off into the snow. Grabbing the door frame for support, the bartender braced himself and winced just before the lead _twanged_ taut, causing the dog to sprawl onto its back with a sharp yelp. It writhed, berserk, snapping and clawing at the harness and the lead, making unholy noises half of which Grillby couldn’t describe. The bartender started for the creature, then stopped, awkward, looking around to see if anyone was watching. Like this, the animal might hurt itself, but he didn’t want it hurting him either, so instead of walking over to the beast he crouched down and tried to get the animal’s attention.

“Hey,” He said softly, voice caught somewhere in his throat, then, “ **Hey!** ”

The dog didn’t as much as look at him, kicking up snow and getting thoroughly tangled in the now slack lead. Something pulled tight as it struggled, and suddenly the cries it made turned pained, forcing the bartender to advance upon it only to have the dog bolt off. 

“ **Easy! Easy! Come!** ”

Again the leash pulled taught, causing the dog to jerk gracelessly, though this time it didn’t fall. Whatever had caught uncomfortably must have untangled, and after a moment’s hesitation Grillby elected to grab the lead and pull the dog towards him. The snow and ice slid smooth beneath the dog’s feet, and it came backwards towards him, unable to resist even as it continued struggling. With a second, then a third pull, the bartender very sincerely hoped he wasn’t hurting the animal, though an equally vehement part of him felt generalized anger for being in this position. Who the hell let their dog behave like this? For that matter, who the hell let it escape in an environment like Snowdin…

One more pull, and the dog was still straining, using its oversized back legs to try to push itself away, harness turning the thrust of the action into an awkward hopping motion. The ungodly cacophony of noise had died down to pleading, panicked whines that sounded disturbingly like sobbing, and as Grillby finally managed to loop his fingers around the strap of the harness itself, between the dog’s shoulder blades, the animal went suddenly still. Silent. The dog lowered its head with a sudden wilted posture.

“Shush, shh… **Stay** … Yeah, you’re okay…” The bartender continued to sooth, uncertain of the change of manner. The dog was panting like mad, but remained otherwise motionless, and when he let go of his grip on the harness, it slid down in the snow to a ‘down’ position, leaving Grillby to look at it curiously. 

“Uh-huh, alright,” Grillby said, “Do we try this again, then?”

After several seconds, he stood, the dog glancing up at him in response. It was still panting and looked exhausted, watching him dully as he cautiously let out more slack lead in order to reach his front door to close it. With that done, the elemental moved forward, still staring down at the dog.

“Okay, **with me** ,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. 

In response, the dog pushed itself up to walk behind him as though it had the weight of the world on its shoulders, and inwardly Grillby shrugged to himself. Giving a little hack as it trudged forward, they made it across the street before the dog really started coughing, and Grillby stopped to let it catch its breath. Watching it, the elemental swore quietly. Fucking thing was probably enraged by the yanking across the animal’s neck, and silently he wondered what condition it would’ve gotten itself in if he had used a regular collar. Regardless, he was grateful he’d gone through the trouble of finding and remodeling the harness.

When the dog had recovered, they continued forward, Grillby making a point to drag his boots through the snow to make a path the animal could travel over. The deep snow seemed a struggle for it and its narrow legs. Stuck in the pathway however, the dog seemed to grow even more nervous, shivering in the cold. The elemental frowned, but moved on, knowing that the bar wasn’t very far away. He wondered if the dog would stay with him long enough that its intolerance for the cold would be an issue. He hoped not. If it did, would he break down and buy it one of those stupid fucking dog sweaters? Probably.

The dog whined as they passed through the alleyway, a whisper of a noise, as if in recognition of the location as the elemental opened the back door. After they got into the rec room in the back of the restaurant, Grillby made sure to seal the door behind them before releasing the hound.

The animal barely reacted when the harness was removed, continuing to trail Grillby as he walked around the small room, putting down a bowl of water. It even followed him to the door, and he opened it warily, slipping out quickly and half closing it before looking at the animal. Oddly, the dog hadn’t made any motion to try to escape, observing him with a vacant and resolved expression.

Dogs shouldn’t be able to look like that, Grillby decided silently. Dogs were supposed to be happy, foolish animals, bounding and ridiculous. Not… _that_. Whatever ‘ _that_ ’ was. Serious? Reserved? Sad? He didn’t know, but he didn’t like it, it made his core swirl uncomfortably, like something was terribly, terribly _wrong_ with the world.

“You, my friend,” Grillby said, trying in some odd manner to soothe himself, “Are a weird-ass creature. I don’t know what’s up with you.”

The dog jerked at his words, blinking up at him as though it had just woken up, and without thinking Grillby affected a small smile before closing the door. When it shut behind him, the elemental’s brow wrinkled, wondering why he’d done that and tried to justify how guilty he felt. Yeah, earlier was unpleasant, but everything was alright now, right? Shit, the damn dog could even hop on the couch in there if it wanted; he had nothing to feel guilty about. And yet, the feeling stayed with him even as he started working, an unsettled, gnawing trepidation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another chapter. Sorry it’s late. Dogs not found.
> 
> Today’s chapter title is brought to you by [Dr. Seuss.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0xQsleqNyQ) If you haven’t and can’t watch the whole thing but want an explanation, start 18 minutes in… Jesus, that’s some amazingly dark shit.
> 
> Apparently it is my now duty to spread the word of dog behavior… Most of what I write comes from personal experience, but here are references I use that I think any dog owner could benefit from. 
> 
>  
> 
> [ Well-done Dog Mood Chart](https://harstinedogbehaviorcenter.files.wordpress.com/2015/05/dog-to-english.png)  
> [Duel Paths to Submissive Posturing](http://positivemed.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/How-to-Read-Your-Dogs-Body-Language.jpg)  
> [Common Fear Behavior](http://www.themuttroom.com/images/Fearful%20dog%20behavior.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> Note that I’ve dealt very little with abused dogs or children, thank god. Most of my writing on those topics is based off of common media tropes, limited personal experience, past job trainings, and information from high school and college courses regarding the subject. Please let me know if I’m depicting anything in an offensive manner, I’d love to correct myself.
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1: **Night 0 - Morning 1** After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash. To his great displeasure, he finds the culprit – an unconscious, immature skeletal creature he decides to pretend is a “dog”. And, since he’s not a piece of shit, goes, “Ah, fuck… Well, can’t let the miserable thing freeze to death, not can I?” and takes it home. It wakes the next morning with a bit of a bad attitude, but despite this our elemental friend manages to corral it for the moment…1785 words.  
>  Chapter 2: **Morning 1 - Evening 1** Grillby and the puppy aren’t getting along so well at first, but luckily Grillby has a high tolerance for stupidity and some past experience with dogs. Though things aren’t going great between the two, it seems the dog has previously been trained by someone, as it responds to commands and seems to like to be talked to. Additionally, the little shit has managed to convince the elemental to feed it table scrapes. What could possibly go wrong? 2434 words.  
>  Chapter 3: **Morning 2** Grillby feeds the dog and get it to the bar. This is harder than it seems it should be, and the bartender can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 2796 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)
> 
> Thank you for reading. Please comment, if you feel you can. :-)


	4. My Glasses! I can’t see without my glasses!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> …You’re still here?  
> Oh.  
> Cool.  
> Really nothing for me to say here, except T minus 4 chapters. :-)  
> Comments are always appreciated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grillby breaks his glasses.

“Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit,” Grillby chanted, scrambling forward to place the industrial sized soup pot onto the counter as his glasses slowly slid down his face. Of course he managed to begin to put the vessel down just as the spectacles finally fell, the weight of the laden container causing his arms to shake and an awkward inability to see where he was stepping, concerned above all else with not pouring liquid everywhere. _Crunch_. 

“… _fuck_.”

Finally freeing himself of the burden of the vat, the bartender clenched his fists in frustration and vented a little heat before knelt down to access the damage. He had to squint to see, of course, but was reassured when he found his frames were relatively undamaged. Picking them up, he brought the glasses close to his face to find what crunched. It wasn’t a big deal, really, just a popped-loose lens and some bent wire, which he quickly and easily smoothed into the proper shape through a combination of his natural strength and heat. He’d gotten rather lucky, so long as the lens itself was intact, and started running his hands along the floor in search of it, wincing as his skin came into contact with a small spill of liquid. Finally, he felt the tthin smoothness of polished glass, and tumbled as he picked it up in a rush to look at it. Thank the Angel the lens was undamaged, Grillby thought, releasing a relieved hiss. He didn’t know what he’d do otherwise.

Glasses were somewhat difficult to come by in the underground. In that way, they were much like any other item, though since there were so many factors - frame size, prescription, and so forth - if a monster found a pair that didn’t just _work_ but _worked well_ for them, they were likely to keep that pair for a very long time. Grillby’s glasses, as it happened, were perfect for the elemental, and had been made out of two different pairs; many monster’s eyeglasses were like that, since humans rarely threw such things away unless they were broken. As a result of this, his left lens was always a little loose – prone to falling out as it didn’t quite fit in the frames he wore. It didn’t happen often, but in some ways he was grateful for the malfunction right now. Had the lens stayed put, the frames themselves probably would’ve busted, and then where would he be? Right when he was dealing with his arch nemesis, soup, too… 

Yep, _this_ was a Monday, alright. Fuck Mondays. 

Grillby headed to the back room, cradling the glasses pieces in one hand. Opening the door, he stopped suddenly as an awful crunching noise caught his attention and paused, listening. Recognition filtered through his mind, and he flung the door wide to scold the animal for chewing on his furniture only to have the dog’s head pinioning up from gnawing on its own forelimb. Grillby’s mouth was left slightly agape as it leapt up, running with its tail tucked and head lowered to the back of the room where it whined and bowed itself down, subservient and scared.

“Wait,” Grillby said, uncertain what precisely he had just seen with the room blurred before him, “ **Stay**.”

What exactly was the dog doing to itself? It was chewing on _something_ , that was certain, and it couldn’t have been anything other than itself since it had been collapsed in the middle of the room, far away from the furniture and hadn’t dropped anything as it retreated. Was it okay? He moved towards it, then knelt down to get a better look, reaching out only to have the damn thing cower back further. Shit, what was he thinking? He wasn’t going to be able to see, anyway. Only thing he was going to do right now was manage to frighten the beast and get himself bitten again. Backing off, away from the dog, Grillby stood and headed over to the small storage cubby in the front corner nearest the door.

Opening it, he hissed again, this time with irritation as he shuffled through the junk drawer. Surely he had to have one in here…? No, damn. He’d have to go back to the house real quick, but that meant leaving the stupid dog alone for a while. He glanced at the animal curiously to find it had taken a hesitant step forward, backing up again when it noticed he was looking at it. Grillby frowned, considering, shifting his weight from foot to foot and running his thumb over his knuckles.

“Be good,” he said, addressing the dog, “Don’t… Don’t fucking eat yourself, okay? That’s just not _right_ , pup.”

The dog just stared at him dolefully, and with a slow, uncertain gait the elemental moved to leave. Once the door was shut behind him, Grillby shook himself, determined to leave and get back as quickly as possible without accidently burning something or hurting himself. Even at a fairly cautious pace, he stumbled twice on the walk to his home, and unlocking the door was another level of difficult altogether. Normally he didn’t even lock the door, but today he had on impulse, disturbed by the strangest sensation that something was watching him. Probably the damn dog, he realized in retrospect.

Stumbling through the doorway, the elemental allowed himself the inelegant and generally frowned on luxury of tromping snow all across his own house. Normally he was a neater man then that, but fuck, he was in a rush and today just wasn’t going well. The week wasn’t going well, honestly, even before the dog showed up. White rabbits and broken juke boxes, trash strewn across the alleyway night after night... Okay, maybe it did start with the dog. That was hardly the animal’s fault, though, and he wondered again if it was alright.

Grillby let out a sharp little exclamation as he slid on the half-melted snow still clinging to his boots. He caught himself on the counter, barely pausing as he continued on to the kitchen junk drawer. He wasn’t quite sure why, but anything that didn’t really have a place it was “supposed” to be generally ended up stashed in his kitchen. Maybe it was because the kitchen was really the heart of his house, even if he didn’t actually use it much, usually eating at or from the restaurant. Still, everything “other” was kept here; the toolbox was beneath the sink alongside the cleaning supplies, flower vases and Grillby’s sparse collection of seasonal decorations in the cabinet beneath the counter that hosted a obligatory display of tea the king had gifted him. The junk drawer was beneath the cereal and snack cabinets, and the elemental rooted through it.

“Ah-hah!” He said victoriously, finding not one, but _two_ of the little glasses repair kits people had gifted him over the years. They were more common than glasses – more commonly disposed of by humans and more commonly made with random bits and pieces of glasses broken to the point of complete disuse – and as such were a common gift for monsters you didn’t really know well, but knew might use them. A personalized enough gift not to seem rude, obvious enough to be picked up thoughtlessly.

“Really _should_ just keep one of these damn things in my pocket,” Grillby said to himself, taking one and bending over the counter. He fiddled with his glasses a moment, finally holding the lens in place with one hand as he struggled to place a ‘new’ screw with the other. More difficult than it sounded, the hole was so blasted _tiny_ , and he was already squinting to make _anything_ out. 

Hard to fix your glasses without your glasses.

Finally the bartender had some success, and he tightened the screw down quickly with the mini-screwdriver the kit provided before replacing it and closing the kit up. He then slipped the kit into his breast pocket, making a mental note to remember to swap it into tomorrow’s outfit along with his wallet. He picked up his glasses, giving the lenses an experimental wiggle before putting them on. Good, good… This was better, he was doing good. Now to go back and see what the dog was up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter title is brought to you by [ Velma.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1xd3CGRQXlo)
> 
> **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1: **Night 0 - Morning 1** After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash. To his great displeasure, he finds the culprit – an unconscious, immature skeletal creature he decides to pretend is a “dog”. And, since he’s not a piece of shit, goes, “Ah, fuck… Well, can’t let the miserable thing freeze to death, not can I?” and takes it home. 1785 words.  
>  Chapter 2: **Morning 1 - Evening 1** Grillby and the puppy aren’t getting along so well at first, but luckily Grillby has a high tolerance for stupidity and some past experience with dogs. It seems the dog has previously been trained by someone, as it responds to commands and seems to like to be talked to. Additionally, the little shit has managed to convince the elemental to feed it table scrapes. 2434 words.  
>  Chapter 3: **Morning 2** Grillby feeds the dog and get it to the bar. This is harder than it seems it should be, and the bartender can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 2796 words.  
>  Chapter 4: **Afternoon 2** Grillby breaks and repairs his glasses. There totally is NO foreshadowing going on here, what are you talking about? 1369 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)
> 
> Your comments inspire me to write more.


	5. D'oh!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad things seem to be happening and no one really understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went under some of the biggest changes of any chapter I’ve ever written for any single work, ever. Why? Angst fueled rage and me being a drama-llama. Probably crap because of that. I like next chapter, though, and the ones after it.
> 
> This was going to be fluff. 
> 
> It's not.
> 
> If you can leave a comment, that would be nice, but I won’t judge you if you don’t. It’s just really nice that you’re still reading. Thanks for that, though I might perhaps question your sanity because of it.

Grillby didn’t quite make it back to check on the dog. Just as he walked into the back, _ting-ting_ the front door chimed, alerting him that customers had arrived. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly – that was why he was dealing with an entire vat of soup, because the dinner rush was about to get started – but it frustrated him nonetheless. This was soon forgotten, however, as the rush progressed, people streaming in and out of the bar in a slow, steady fashion. It wouldn’t have been overwhelming if Grillby had even one waiter, but since he was alone in taking orders, cooking, and bussing tables, the elemental had no room for thoughts that didn’t directly relate to his work. Three hours later, after the restaurant had cleared leaving only one lone rabbit drowning in her drink in the booth closest to the door, Grillby finally had a chance to breathe.

He snuck into the back with a small piece of roast meat wrapped in a napkin. It wasn’t much, but he thought the dog would like it, and that maybe it would even be enough of a temptation to get the stupid thing to approach him. The animal itself had retreated to the back corner, cowering as it always seemed to, and Grillby actually tried not to look at it as he crossed the room to sit in the couch; a ragged piece of furniture, of course, but in the underground anything was worth keeping around. The dog moved to keep as far away from him as possible, and the elemental busied himself with straightening the couch cover beside him, though it didn’t need any straightening. Clearly the dog had not hopped up here as he had expected.

It took several moments before he finally heard the dog sniffing and turned to it. It flinched when he looked at it, a fact that made the bartender squint in concern before hesitantly unfolding the napkin. He held about half the piece of meat out casually, trying to relax his own body language enough that maybe the beast would get the message.

“You hungry?” He coaxed, quietly, “I know you didn’t eat much this morning, and I’m afraid it’s going to be another few hours before I can feed you again. Sorry… I haven’t had an animal in a while and kind of forgot to grab your food on the way out. This is good, though, and you can have it.”

He wagged the tidbit in the air, before continuing, “Here you are. Just for you, Muttly.”

The dog shuffled on its feet a little, but didn’t move any closer, leaving Grillby to sit and wait. He was patient, though, and knew Leveret would ring the service bell if she needed anything more between now and the rough hour he had before the crew came in for their nightcaps. She was going classic tonight, nothing fancy, and for that Grillby was grateful. Her fancy drinks normally happened on her manic days, which often translated to the night when he went home sustainably damper then he would like to.

_Click-clack_

The dog had moved forward a step or two, bowing its head with its eye lights rolled all the way up to watch the bartender carefully. If its tail hadn’t been tucked, it’d be wagging it in a nervous manner, crooked hips now swaying with the termination of the motion.

“ _Really?_ ” Grillby imagined it saying, “ _That’s for me?_ ”

He reached out just a hair further to towards the beast, meat now pinched precariously between two fingers. The dog balked back momentarily, but when Grillby was forced to stop his advance by the limits of his own body, the dog stepped forward again. It whined once, a second time, then _click-clack_ ed forward again, stopping just a hair from the food. The way it took the treat was delicate, almost careful, as if prepared for the roast to be torn away from its jaws, until Grillby let go and the animal leaped back from him, joyously devouring the bite with two quick chomps and a swallow.

Another whine as it retreated, not as far this time, curtseying between the elemental and the far wall. It was curious, Grillby realized. It knew he had more meat and wanted to know what he intended to do with it. Thus, he tried to tempt it forward a second time with much quicker success. It would be unfair to split the meat any further at this point, so Grillby decided to up his game, hoping that he wasn’t pushing his luck too much.

“Okay, puppy-pup, last piece here...” He said, showing the dog the piece of meat, but holding it sideways instead of forward, “Can you get up on the couch for me? It really is alright for you to be up here, I promise, and I’d feel better if you weren’t on the floor every time I checked in on you.”

The dog edged forward, then bowed and whined at him before backing up again. It did this several times, then slowly edged around to the side of the couch to try to get the meat from there. For a while, all Grillby could see of the animal was its nose or lack-there-of tipping over the arm rest, sniffing. He almost gave in then, but held steady, trying to think of a long forgotten command. He remembered it just as the dog edged around to look at him again, startling them both.

“Table!” He exclaimed, and the dog jumped back before looking at him as though bewildered.

“ **Table** ,” Grillby repeated, calm now, in his listen-to-me-I’m-the-boss voice. The dog went absolutely eerie still, frozen until he repeated the command again and it shuffled forward in the strangest manner the bartender had ever seen. He leaned forward as the dog came, expecting it to retreat again, but it barely even reacted, stiffly pulling itself up onto the couch. It didn’t jump like a dog should, it _crawled_ up, and once on the couch it sat rigid and stared at the wall in front of it. Didn’t even turn around – just looked at the wall inches in front of it’s face.

The bartender was at a loss for what to do, his first instinct to offer the reward to the animal, but the beast didn’t take it even after he literally brushed it’s snout with the morsel. The closer he got to the animal, the more unsettled the bartender grew until the distinct feeling of _wrong_ came back, prompting Grillby to rotate himself towards the dog and placed one folded leg between himself and it, the other firmly on the ground. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to kick it in self-defense if it attacked or ready to run away, but the entire surface of his flame felt tingly, like the malicious atmosphere of battle, and something deep within him had gone sour. The meat was abandoned next to the dog’s front paws, though the animal didn’t so much as look at it.

Minutes passed, and slowly the feeling faded. At some point, the dog started panting, and now that Grillby felt a bit foolish for how he reacted, he reached out to brush against its shoulder the way a normal person might a normal pet. The dog reacted instantly, snapping blindly at him before attempting to shy back, sending it tumbling ass over teakettle off of the couch. Grillby blinked at it as it reacted with confusion, then fear, not even bothering to run away so much as make itself small and timid looking. That emotion – capitulated, heavy dread – that had come from the dog, hadn’t it? The bartender didn’t let himself react to the realization, he simply grabbed the piece of meat and held it out again.

He didn’t have a damn thing to say about this situation. Not a damn thing to think, either. He just watched as the dog retreated to its corner far away from him, then paced, then hesitantly bobbed nearer before taking the meat from him in the most delicate of manners. He didn’t think about it after he left to take care of the midnight drunkards, or when he put the harness back on it. He didn’t think about it as he ate his dinner and watched the dog eat its own. He didn’t think about it when he sat down and read his book for a few minutes before bed and the dog paced around the living room, trotting in circles and occasionally making long, sad sounds.

When it was finally time for bed, he was faced with an entirely new problem of setting up the crate again. Finding a blanket or two to line it wasn’t tricky, but making sure it didn’t get knocked over again was more of an issue. Luckily, he had kept a “statue”, or a piece of one, anyway, above that spot a long time standing. It was supported by a heavy metal hook, nailed directly into one of the houses support beams, and after removing the carved stone from it, he looped some rope around before tying up the far corners of the dog cage. With that done, he pulled experimentally to try to tip the crate over, and found that it would by a couple inches before the ropes caught it. That was good enough, really, but for extra measure he pushed his sturdiest chair up against it too. 

The dog would have to be really determined to fuck that system up.

Which now, of course, left the dog. It had been watching him the entire time, swapping from the cover of one table to the other. When he looked at it, the dog sank, lying nervously with its head and chest pressed against the floor and limbs folded beneath it for a quick escape. It was late, now, real late, and Grillby wasn’t about to play that game with the creature, so instead of trying to approach it, he gestured to the open crate.

“ **Kennel** ,” He said, and the animal stood, glancing at him. Again, its hips swayed slightly, the depressing not-a-wag that was somehow worse than when the animal didn’t show any signs of “happiness” at all. It was like the way some monsters smiled, the elemental had decided, not a show of trust or sincerity but more of a supplicatory motion.

“ _I’m good!_ ” The dog was saying as it walked to the cage and slinked inside, “ _See how good I am?_ ”

But Grillby didn’t think about that. Not as he closed the door behind the animal and watched it drink mouthful after mouthful of water before sinking to its bedding. Not as he switched the light out or sank into bed himself. No, Grillby didn’t think about the dog or its strange behavior, because Grillby really didn’t want a dog. He didn’t have the time to care for one, or the gold to give it a livable life without him taking it on walks frequently or playing fetch.

He _didn’t want a dog_ , so he didn’t think about _it_ at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter title is brought to you by [ Couch Gags ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kZykBF9JkPQ)
> 
> I’ll get to the rest of this sometime, probably. I can’t right now. Still on my angst train.
> 
> [EDITED 8/20/16]
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1: **Night 0 - Morning 1** After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash. To his great displeasure, he finds the culprit – an unconscious, immature skeletal creature he decides to pretend is a “dog”. And, since he’s not a piece of shit, goes, “Ah, fuck… Well, can’t let the miserable thing freeze to death, not can I?” and takes it home. 1785 words.  
>  Chapter 2: **Morning 1 - Evening 1** Grillby and the puppy aren’t getting along so well at first, but luckily Grillby has a high tolerance for stupidity and some past experience with dogs. It seems the dog has previously been trained by someone, as it responds to commands and seems to like to be talked to. Additionally, the little shit has managed to convince the elemental to feed it table scrapes. 2434 words.  
>  Chapter 3: **Morning 2** Grillby feeds the dog and get it to the bar. This is harder than it seems it should be, and the bartender can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 2796 words.  
>  Chapter 4: **Afternoon 2** Grillby breaks and repairs his glasses. There totally is NO foreshadowing going on here, what are you talking about? 1369 words.  
>  Chapter 5: **Evening 2** Grillby tries to make friend with the dog only to have it horribly backfire when he uses one particular command. 1850 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	6. Who’s A Good Boy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes that asshole friend is right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! I’m too lazy to write notes again today. Comments are awesome though, if you can leave them. Thanks for reading.

A few days later, the elemental woke up late, getting up slowly before he meandered to the living room. It was a holiday, though Grillby couldn’t tell you which, probably something political or to celebrate someone long since fallen, and the elemental really just didn’t care anymore. What was the point of having a holiday if you were supposed to be sad or serious about it? He’d had enough sad and serious in his life; he really didn’t need more of it. What mattered to him is that it meant he worked his shortened “weekend” hours. 

Yawning, he stretched and leaned against the hallway’s mouth before his gaze settled on the sleeping form of the dog within its cage. He’d given it an old blanket to nest with, hoping it would leave the folded towels at the bottom of the crate alone for warmth and padding from the thick wire. It seemed pleased with its new bedding, and after two nights of silence without incident, Grillby had moved the chair away from the cage’s side, leaving the tethers up just in case. This allowed him a clear view inside cage even from this angle, though he’s tossed a rag over one end of the kennel to make it more den-like, and the opening likewise allowed the creature to peer out as it pleased. 

The animal snorted in its sleep, then sneezed, sitting up as it awoke and sniffed the air. Noticing the elemental, it looked up at him passively, still blinking the sleep from its eyes. It huffed, adjusting itself, and set its head down on its paws again. The dog knew it didn’t get out of the crate until after Grillby ate breakfast. It also knew it got to lick the plate afterward.

Grillby waited a moment, watching the dog, not quite ready to move on with his day and curious as to what it would do. The creature glanced at him again, picked its head up, and watched. Then it tilted its head thoughtfully, opened its mouth, and gave a hesitant trill. The noise surprised Grillby, seeming more befitting of something in the flesh and winged then the strange skeleton, and the call cut off abruptly at the first tensing of his posture. 

Grillby blinked.

“Well,” He said with a sleepy sense of humor, “Good morning to you, too.”

To his great surprise, the dog’s tail moved in the barest hint of an honest wag. Grillby smiled as he made his way to the kitchen, pleased with the interaction despite himself. 

It was later then he would’ve liked, already nine, and he only had an hour or so before he needed to get to the bar, so he ate quickly. Setting his meager leftovers on the floor and adding a liberal handful of dog food to the plate, he released the animal who happily trotted over to its meal, restraining itself from actually eating until Grillby had settled himself on one of the loveseats. Then, it dug in.

They’d developed a sort of routine, Grillby and the dog. At night, the animal was stashed in the crate to prevent mischief, but aside from that it was allowed to wander free while Grillby was home. When he was at work, the dog went with him, waiting and entertaining itself in the rec room. It seemed, for all the world, content as a couch potato, and Grillby wasn’t about to complain since he didn’t have any place else for the dog except the cage, which he was a little wary of leaving it in without an ear around to listen for distress. He was still looking for a home for the animal, but it was with an easygoing lack of urgency that betrayed his mild affection for the guarded creature.

“Done?” The bartender asked as the dog’s eating slowed. It looked up at him briefly, then wolfed down another mouthful of food. Finished, there was still a little left over. There was always a little left over, Grillby had realized, no matter how small he made its portions, so now he just gave it slightly more than he expected it to need and hoped that was appropriate. The dog didn’t approach him, but stood next to its bowl and cocked its head at him expectantly. When he didn’t move immediately, it gave a very obviously questioning _boof?_ and shifted on its paws.

“I’m getting there, puppy-pup. It’s still early.” Grillby said, closing his eyes to savor the last sedate moments of doing nothing. 

The dog let out a huff in response, snorting and turning to take one last single kibble from its bowl, and again Grillby found himself smiling. Now that they were on better terms, the variety of noises the dog could make fascinated the elemental. Whines, groans, moans, barks, trills – they all seemed startling once you realized the creature making them had no throat, and due to the sheer novelty of the sound of another living creature in his normally too-quiet home, Grillby rather enjoyed listening to the dog. There was one particularly shrill, grating and unpleasant noise he hated, however, as no matter how much he was expecting to hear it, the sound always startled him, causing his flame to flare and him to feel on edge for several seconds. This, of course, seemed to be the dog’s favorite noise to produce.

“Alright,” the bartender groaned, finally standing up. The dog danced away from him as he did so, though its cautious mannerisms had grown slowly less severe as time passed. Instead of huddling near the wall or in a corner somewhere, the dog simply gave him a wide breadth when he was standing, even wider if the elemental moved, and looked at him often now without fear but rather careful curiosity. Grillby still didn’t like how flighty the creature was, but they were making progress.

“ **With me** ,” Grillby commanded, the dog quickly trotting over to trail behind him. They’d been doing this little series of exercises every day before and after work, and it seemed to do wonders for the dog’s opinion of him. The elemental led the hound around the stairwell once, then continued, stopping and turning in the kitchen.

“ **Sit** ” He commanded, and the dog sat. 

“ **Down**.”

“ **Stay**.”

Grillby waited and watched the animal a few moments. Sprawled on the floor, it always kind of freaked him out the way the creature’s anatomy worked. Did normal dog’s hips displace that horizontally when they laid down? It made them look almost broken. The dog was alert and focused, and about the only time it seemed calm was when Grillby was actively working it with commands. Was this what the animal was used to? He wished he had more time with the mutt like this, but his priority was work. When he’d finally decided the dog had “stayed” enough, the elemental walked to the refrigerator, opening it and grabbing a pre-sliced piece of cheese.

“Good dog,” He said, showing the tidbit to the animal, who took the offering almost gingerly from his outstretched hand before devouring it.

“ **With me** ,” He said, once the dog was finished, taking the animal to the doorway where the harness and lead hung on a hook by the doorway. The animal still disliked the device and moved strangely in it, but since their first adventure hadn’t struggled against it. The walk to the bar was brief, and when they got inside, Grillby once again treat-trained the dog with a small sliver of leftover pie. It liked that, and was still distractedly sniffing for crumbs when Grillby closed the door behind him.

Work that day was uneventful, and the dog behaved itself well enough. Sometimes Grillby heard it whining, but when he poked his head in to check on it at work, the dog was usually standing on the couch and straining to look out the small, high window when it did so. In his home, too, it generally cried by windows if at all, and quite naturally the elemental had concluded that something outside had intrigued it. After the first handful of times, he stopped paying attention to the behavior. It wasn’t regular enough to be obtrusive, so it really didn’t bother him any, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it anyway. If it had been growling at monsters, even barking, he might react adversely to it, but as it was, he didn’t know what it was responding to and the whimpers and trills hardly seemed aggressive. Dogs, he decided, would be dogs.

When Grillby actually entered the rec room during the slow hours between lunch and dinner, the dog remained nervous and flighty of his presence. It seemed to like him more back in the house, where the animal had plenty of space to retreat to should it deem it necessary. In the small back room of the restaurant, however, it was nearly as cautious of him as it had been the first two days. He’d learned that if he coaxed it long enough, the dog might sit, ill at ease, beside him on the couch, but the situation was obviously distressing to both of them. After a time or two Grillby gave up on that, and didn’t even bother trying today.

For the most part, Grillby had taken to simply using his free time as he normally had pre-dog; reading, listening to the radio, completing newspaper puzzles and massaging the soreness from his body, and very, very rarely attempting to catch a quick nap before next food rush. He might train the beast a little, but found overall that he lacked the patience for such activities while at work, and hardly wanted to damage the delicate peace they’d made over the past few days. Meanwhile, the dog spent most of its time pacing, watching him intently, or most often, both. 

It was a little creepy, actually, and made the elemental’s surface crawl. He’d say it was “as if something was watching him”, except minus the “as if”. In fact, the two of them were having a modified staring contest – each looking away when they caught the other looking at them - when the “ring for service” bell chimed, forcing Grillby to get up. He made sure the dog had water again, then went out the door to the front. A rabbit was waiting for him at the bar, long ears poked through duel slits pierced into a wicker hat.

“Hiya Grillby. Still have the dog?” Bailey asked, a teasing smile playing across her lips as she nibbled absently on a carrot stick.

“Yes,” The bartender admitted, knowing exactly where this conversation was going to lead.

“What’s its name?”

“I don’t know,” He replied. They’d been through this at least twice now; Bailey was one of his regulars. “I haven’t found an owner yet.”

Bailey grinned at him, covering her mouth with her hand as she finished chewing. When she was done, she said, “You should give it a name.”

“No, I shouldn’t.” He said tersely, explaining, “If I give the dog a name, then I’m going to get attached, and then I’ll have a dog.”

“You already have a dog, Grillby. I mean, honestly… It’s been how long? A week?”

“Five days.”

“Same difference. And besides, I’ve watched you collecting table scraps for the damn thing right before you go into that back room of yours. Bet you even know what kind of food it likes best!” When the bartender didn’t respond immediately, Bailey’s grin split wider, “See! You’ve _got_ yourself a dog, Grillby, you should stop trying to kid yourself about that.”

The bartender rolled his eyes. 

“What’ll you have today, Bailey?” He asked, then, “The usual?”

“Egh, I’m not drinking today. Too early, anyway. Can I get some fries?”

Grillby nodded, and headed to the back quickly, grateful to dodge the conversation. When he returned, though, Bailey was back at it.

“Why aren’t you keeping the dog, anyway? I know you’re a dog person. Heard you talking to the guard, once…”

“It might be someone else’s pet, Bailey. I can’t steal someone’s pet.”

“Sure you can. I mean, I would. Shit, you found it unconscious in your alleyway. Whoever had Doggy-poo-poo-pooch before you shouldn’t have a dog if they’re that neglectful.”

“It probably just escaped,” The bartender rationalized, a touch too defensively, “Got lost. Animals do that.”

“Uh-huh,” Bailey looked at him skeptically, then straightened on her stool and fixed him with her best all-knowing, superior gaze. “You, my friend, are repressed.”

“Repressed?” Grillby said, a chuckle escaping him due to the pure unexpected turn of conversation.

“Yup. Repressed. You should try to fix that.” Bailey said, “It’s not a very attractive quality.”

“I’m not _exactly_ looking around,” Grillby shot back, not quite understanding the flash of expression he caught on Bailey’s face before she hurriedly took a bite of her fries. They lapsed into uneasy silence, the rabbit eating while Grillby took to wiping down the bar. When that was done, he started on glasses, only to be interrupted by Bailey speaking again.

“Back to doggy-poo-poo-pooch,” She said, her voice oddly reserved for the normally extroverted and frank shopkeeper.

“Doggy-poo-poo-pooch? Really?” Grillby said, his own tone awkwardly incredulous as he tried to recapture the familiar banter of earlier.

“If you won’t name it, I will.” Bailey replied, her voice surprisingly sharp. Hurt?

“I better start thinking of names fast then,” The bartender joked uncertainly in return. When Bailey didn’t smile, he said, “Anyway, yeah… About the dog?”

“Well, I mean, you’re always complaining about how nervous it is. How much it flinches, avoids you, like that. Don’t you wonder if something happened to it?”

“Like what?”

“Grillby, don’t give me that. You know what I mean.”

Grillby stayed silent, polishing the glass in his hands. He had given it a certain amount of thought, yes… But in the end shrugged the thought off. He was busy trying to run a business by himself, and anyway, he couldn’t _really_ know if an animal had been abused. It Wasn’t like the dog could tell him, and even if it had, who knew if it was by the current owner or not? Besides, he had trouble believing any monster in the underground would treat a dog like that. More likely, it had just been an inbred mongrel living on the streets when some good Samaritan picked it up without knowing the first damn thing about training dogs and reinforced bad behavior – But then how was the dog so well trained for commands?

Something swirled in his core. It bit him once, when it was probably disoriented and he had it cornered. It growled and whined and snapped, but mostly it cowered. It chewed on itself, it chewed on the cage. It paced, circled almost obsessively... Never ate all its food… 

Some of the sounds it made sounded almost like _crying_...

“Grillby?”

The bartender flinched, pulled from his own thoughts and back into reality. Bailey had leaned over the counter, half-seriously waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. She wore an expression somewhere between concerned and judgmental, the kind of soft look a mother might give a child who’d scrapped their knee while doing something she’d told them not to.

Grillby didn’t respond. 

“So you have at least given that some thought?” She asked, and Grillby shrugged, then nodded in response.

“Well… Maybe.” He finally admitted, “But how am I supposed to judge these things without meeting whoever they are? Animals aren’t super fond of fire, Bailey… Maybe, erm, ‘Pooch’ is just acting weird because they don’t like me because, well, me.”

Grillby paused to wave a crackling arm for emphasis, “I figured… I’d figured when someone came forward to claim it I’d have a chance to judge their character, anyway, you know? So why worry about making up theories based on something as unpredictable as an animal’s temperament. Besides, its behavior is getting better with time. Maybe it’s just scared of strangers.”

“Uh-huh.” Bailey said, unimpressed with his little speech, “Grillz, you’re making excuses and you and I both know it.”

She glanced to the clock and hopped off the stool, “Anyway, I should get going. Take my advice and keep the damn dog, though. Both of you will be happier, trust me.”

Grillby automatically started cleaning as she left, opening his mouth to respond. The rabbit woman cut him off again, this time with a little warmth in her voice again as she started for the door, “I _know_ you like having it around, even if it does hate you because you. Do you know why? Because you’re keeping my left over fries to treat-feed it. Bye-bye!”

The bell on the door rang once, leaving Grillby to seriously consider dumping the fries in the trash out of sheer spite. Instead, he went to the back, the dog looking at him curiously as he entered. It backed away from him when he started for it, and Grillby stopped, sighing heavily and looking to the fries in his hand. If he told the animal to come, it would come, he’d give it a treat, and so on. Instead, Grillby moved to sit on the couch. The dog was wary of him whenever he stood, and actively avoided him when he moved, but when he was seated – particularly with food – sometimes the dog would approach him. It seemed to like to see what he was doing; even more than it liked to beg. 

Internally, Grillby was scolding himself. The conversation with Bailey really didn’t change anything; he _had_ to find the dog a new home. He didn’t have enough time for the mutt, at least not enough time to give it a decent life, the care and attention a dog deserved. Stuck in a back room all day, what kind of life was that for a dog? But he couldn’t _not_ tell whoever about the dog’s anxiety issues, and the biting…

Who in their right mind would take it?

As predicted, the dog shuffled nearer, tilting its head. Still outside of arm’s reach, it gazed at him curiously, and Grillby felt the barest hint of victory that its tail wasn’t tucked beneath it. Actually, had it tucked its tail or cowered at all today? It always got nervous at night, when he had to put it in the crate, but besides then did it tuck its tail the day before, either? He hadn’t been paying that much attention.

“Hey, pooch, a friend of mine left these for you,” He said, holding one of the fries out. The dog eyed it a moment, taking one more step towards him before bowing its head in submission. Grillby sighed again, the last of his resolve crumbling completely. He tossed the fry he held atop the rest on the plate, put that on the ground and pushed it towards the dog. Immediately, the animal went for it, chowing down like a creature half starved.

“That is _not_ how you raise a good… _I_ am _not_ rais _ing_ a good canine citizen right now.” The elemental commented to no one, scolding himself for feeding the animal when it had been begging and encouraging bad behavior. Was it begging? Or just watching him again? Regardless, he should’ve worked it before he gave it the fries. Sit. Down. Stay. Good dog.

“Good dog,” he echoed out loud, causing the animal to glance up at him sharply. Grillby met its gaze and repeated, a little less absently now, “Good dog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter title is brought to you by [Welcome To Nightvale](https://www.youtube.com/user/WelcometoNightVale/videos)
> 
> [EDITED 8/20/16]
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1: **Night 0 - Morning 1** After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash. To his great displeasure, he finds the culprit – an unconscious, immature skeletal creature he decides to pretend is a “dog”. And, since he’s not a piece of shit, goes, “Ah, fuck… Well, can’t let the miserable thing freeze to death, not can I?” and takes it home. 1785 words.  
>  Chapter 2: **Morning 1 - Evening 1** Grillby and the puppy aren’t getting along so well at first, but luckily Grillby has a high tolerance for stupidity and some past experience with dogs. It seems the dog has previously been trained by someone, as it responds to commands and seems to like to be talked to. Additionally, the little shit has managed to convince the elemental to feed it table scrapes. 2434 words.  
>  Chapter 3: **Morning 2** Grillby feeds the dog and get it to the bar. This is harder than it seems it should be, and the bartender can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 2796 words.  
>  Chapter 4: **Afternoon 2** Grillby breaks and repairs his glasses. There totally is NO foreshadowing going on here, what are you talking about? 1369 words.  
>  Chapter 5: **Evening 2** Grillby tries to make friend with the dog only to have it horribly backfire when he uses one particular command. 1850 words.  
>  Chapter 6: **Morning 5 – Afternoon 5** The dog is beginning to clearly not hate Grillby and Bailey more or less gut punches the bartender with some “Hey, dude, knock off the whole denial thing”. 3257 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	7. Chekhov's Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That title, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still kind a rushing these so notes aren’t that good. Next chapters get into places where I'm kinda shrugging and going "suspension of disbelief" to explain some things. I mean, you know... Skeledogs, for shit's sake. Should only REALLY be an issue if you like to over think things as much as I do. Probably not going to be another chapter until Monday, but that depends on how the weekend goes. :-)
> 
> Comments always appreciated. Thanks for reading.

The dog was wandering and looking out windows again in the evening when Grillby caught a glint from around its neck. Putting his book down in his lap, he watched it for a while, hoping to get another glance of… whatever it was. It was starting to drive him crazy - he’d caught glimpses of a similar shine on many occasions with the dog. However, the animal quickly noticed his gaze and sat, staring back at him, canting its head to one side inquiringly and giving a little moan-like whine. Grillby sighed, returning to his book for a while, until he caught another glance of reflected light.

“What _is_ that?” he said, though of course the dog did not respond, so the bartender stood and went to investigate.

The animal grew nervous, as it always did when he was on the move, particularly as he started following it around the house. It picked up speed, trotting quickly and glancing back at him while Grillby just kept the same deliberate, even pace, trying not to upset it further, the echoes of his and Bailey’s conversation still fresh in his mind.

“ **Stay** ” He tried, but the dog wasn’t listening to him. When the dog obeyed and when it didn’t was a mystery to the elemental, as at least 95 percent of the time the creature was perfectly meek, submissive, and obedient. Every now and then, though, something went off and it started acting like this. The bartender didn’t do anything about it – why would he when he wasn’t keeping it? _What_ would he do? Especially if this really was an animal with a bad past…

Eventually the two made their way into the kitchen, and the elemental finally made his move just as the dog was about to take a particularly tight corner to evade him. Throwing open the oven door, Grillby blocked its immediate escape with both his surroundings and his body, and the dog stalled, backing itself further into a corner when it scrambled backwards between the refrigerator and the old, nonfunctioning dishwasher the elemental used for storage and makeshift additional counter space. The bartender took advantage of this, quickly closing the gap, though pausing as the animal started growling and snapping at him.

“ **No bite**!” Grillby stressed, using the voice and vocabulary one does for animals or particularly naughty young children. It was less severe than last time he spoke to it, while still clearly asserting who the boss was in this situation. “Haven’t we had this conversation before? A few times already?”

The animal he had cornered _ruffed_ uncertainly at him. It wasn’t quite a real bark, but neared it as the animal continued - _ruff, ruff… ruff-ruff-buff-ruff-whine_ \- its hackles raised, not much about the dog had changed. Save for its very slightly taller height, the dog’s threat was wholly unimpressive. Maybe it wasn’t even a threat. Honestly, this was the calmest he’d ever seen it when it was refusing to listen to him.

“Look, puppy-pup, there’s not much you can do here, you know?” Grillby said, holding his arms out to his sides for a moment while he tried to gauge the dog’s temperament. He was about done with the dog’s shit at this point, but also didn’t want to further traumatize the animal, “I’ve already got you cornered, and besides, how exactly have I mistreated you? You’ve got a blanket, some food, some water… and - oh, yeah – you’re not dead, either! Which I _think_ would be a plus, but that _might_ just be me…”

Grillby had taken to rambling at the dog whenever he could think of something to say to it. He found that talking to the creature definitely seemed to calm it, as he had first suspected, but paid little to no attention to what he was actually saying, simply keeping his voice in a relatively soothing tone and allowing the dog to grow accustomed to it. If he did decide to keep the pup, as he was now considering despite a few logistical problems (and the smug way Bailey would react), he hoped to finish training it. Perhaps he’d even get it to be as well behaved as he had his first old service dog, but that seemed improbable. Sometimes, like now, he let a little emotion leak into his voice, noticing how the creature often tilted its head to look at him curiously at each little inflection change. Curiosity, the bartender had realized, often won over fear with the beast, thereby grounding aggression.

“Now, I’m not going to hurt you. I haven’t so far, right? Except for when you actually _did_ bite me, but that wasn’t even really intentional. It’s called fire. Don’t play with it, alright? Tell all the kids on the block. _Bad_ fire. Burns. Oh, the horror.” Grillby started edging towards the creature at this point, still murmuring inconsequentially, “What the hell am I even saying to you, huh? Crazy old bartender, am I right? Talks to a little puppy dog all day… Ah, well, not all bad I guess. You’re a good listener, buddy. Oh, I am _not_ naming you that, by the way. My old dog was named Buddy before I changed it. Stupidest goddamn name… Stupid dog, too, but I loved him. He was a good boy.”

Grillby was within arms distance of the animal, now, stalling for a moment as he considered whether it was really a good idea to reach out for it. It seemed mollified for the moment, its earlier hostility having slowly faded as Grillby chatted at it. Gently, the elemental reached out, touching the dog on the shoulder to test it before slowly crouching forward to wrap one arm firmly around it while leaving the other to investigate the metallic disturbance.

“ _There_ we are! Look at that. Good boy! Girl? Whatever, you don’t care… Yeah, you’re a good boy, too. Just have to get you to stop biting, huh? And then you’ll be great. Just grea- _What the hell_?”

Grillby paused, having gotten his first good look at what was wrapped around the dog’s spinal column. Shiny and made of silver metal, just as he had earlier surmised, was a tight-fitting band of ovular metal, about as big in diameter as his pointer finger. It had virtually no give to it, and seemed to be cutting into the beast’s neck, a little red-orange and yellowish pus-like, tainted magic seeping from the bone beneath it. The elemental felt a tug of nausea in his core, looking at the sickly discharge, but as closely tucked to the animal’s skull as the band was, hidden by the ridges of bone, it was no wonder he had missed it earlier. 

“Is this a collar? Ugh, that’s nasty… Geez, is this what’s been causing you to be such a little shit half the time?” Grillby shifted and tightened his hold, noticing how the creature had been stiffening against him, preparing for something. “I don’t blame you…That has got to hurt like a _son-of-a-bitch_!” 

Carefully, he leaned closer to inspect the band, placing his other hand tight around the dog’s muzzle. While he was sympathetic to its pain, now, there was no way in hell he was going to let himself get bitten in the face.

“How about we get that off of you, huh? That’ll feel better, I bet…” He said, believing to have found the latch mechanism. As soon as he so much as brushed the metal, however, the dog fought against him, thrashing and snapping with all its might.

“Easy, easy!” Grillby said, making a cursory attempt to calm the struggling animal before bowling it over and pinning it against the floor. He didn’t like the look of the wound the band was causing one bit, and furthermore had an uneasy hint of recognition to its aesthetic. He couldn’t be certain until he had it off, but as it was he thought it could be causing the beast a lot more pain then he had initially realized.

“ _Easy_ ,” The elemental hissed sternly one last time, waiting for the dog to still beneath him. “ **Stay** \- Stay still! Shush, shh… Trying to help you, I promise.”

He knew it didn’t have enough energy to fight for long, but hoped to reduce the amount of energy it wasted by not enraging it further when it was already panicked. Within seconds, it was over, the animal panting hard as its white pupils darted madly beneath the hand Grillby was using to keep its muzzle pinned to the floor. It jolted again as he reached around to undo the clasp, now silent as the dog’s hind claws dug into his thigh and calf, kicking against him and whining pitifully. 

He managed to unlock the collar despite the dog’s effort and… nothing happened. Grillby’s brow wrinkled in confusion, and he adjusted his grip again, now using one leg to pin the animal’s hindquarters so that it couldn’t scratch him anymore. It started whimpering again, pitifully, as though it were being killed, but Grillby held fast to its muzzle as he drew in even closer, his face now inches from the beast’s neck.

“Sorry, pooch. Sorry… I’m sorry, I really am, but this has _got_ to come off, like, right away. Yeah? Yeah, that’s _got_ to – oh, for fuck’s sake…”

Screws. There were small screws keeping the collar on, tight and flush with the rest of the metal. Miniscule, really, and he wondered if his tool kit would even have something fine enough to turn them. They were flatheads, at least – maybe he could use a knife to loosen them? God, no. That was a fucking terrible idea! But they were so _tiny_ , almost like… Oh. _Duh_. Grillby was suddenly quite grateful he was nearsighted. 

Maneuvering a knee over the dog’s forelimbs, Grillby pressed his weight down on them in order to free the arm that had both been pinning the animal’s chest and allowing him to manipulate the collar. Even so, it was difficult to get into his pocket to reach his glasses repair kit, and when he opened it the dog jostled, sending most of the contents flying to who-knows-where. Blessedly, the tiny screwdriver had a bright pink handle, and was easy enough to locate even after it fell to the floor, landing next to a single cast-off nose pad. The elemental grabbed it between two fingers, rushing to remove the screws as quickly as possible and sighing in relief as the collar finally slid open. Grabbing one end of the collar, he simultaneously stood and backed away from the creature while pulling the device from its throat.

The dog leaped to its own four feet immediately, jumping backward, away from the elemental as it continued to whine and carry on. Grillby didn’t pay much attention to it, too distracted by the gore tainted collar he was holding. The lower side, slightly flattened, had been covered with small, sharp barbs that bit into the skeleton-dog’s neck. As if that wasn’t enough, he could now feel the horrible _draining_ sensation they caused, his worst fear realized as he looked at the device he was holding.

“Fuck, dog… _Just fuckin’ what the hell_.”

A magic tap, long since outlawed for the public sector, had been bound directly against the animal’s body. In the private sector, they were only used by the royal guards for law enforcement and imprisonment. And even then, they were normally utilized as part of deterrent systems. Installed, for instance, in the barrier lasers so that one truly could not pass through them. As it was, the use was controversial, what he had in his hand was just... Abuse. Worse then abuse; torture. 

Grillby threw it away from himself in disgust. As an elemental, a being made almost purely of magic, he had a particular distaste for such devices, and he was painfully struck with several sudden realizations... Sure, it was just an animal, but _fucking hell_. He sure wasn’t going to complain about its behavior so far after _that_ little discovery.

“There,” He said quietly, trying carefully to keep his voice calm despite the new spark of rage kindling within him, “That… That wasn’t so bad, now was it? I bet you feel a lot better…”

The snort he got from the beast almost seemed like an almost appropriate response, and Grillby smiled, slight and strained, finding himself somewhat tentative to approach the dog again. While whoever did _that_ had to be in the wrong, he also realized that they could have a reason for the precaution. Right? They _had_ to, otherwise… He still refused to think about otherwise. Who knew what a magical skele-dog could do? Not him, for damn sure. What prompted him into motion again was the dripping of fouled magical discharge from the animal’s neck.

“Ah, fuck…” Grillby said, starting forward again. By this time the animal had settled itself, standing a little automatously in the corner, eyes unfocused. With the motion, it snapped to attention, baring its teeth for a scant moment before seeming to reconsider. Grillby paused, watching it, then continued carefully forward.

He was surprised when the animal barely twitched as he touched it again, not reacting as he pressed down and manipulated it to get a better look at the wound. It did let out a hideous little whine as the elemental’s fingertips brushed against the festering wound, but the elemental didn’t begrudge the beast for that. He was just impressed by its sudden cooperation. Sure, he’d thought the painful collar might be enraging the animal a little, but he hardly had assumed that it truly was the cause of its aggression, because surely, _surely_ the collar was to help control – the dog yanked away from his touch, cowering back suddenly and looking at him with woeful eyes. 

Shit.

Grillby faltered, suddenly _knowing_ that the collar wasn’t justified by unmanageable behavior or aggression. Even if it was, who would cinch it down so tight onto a growing animal? Tight enough to _cut_ into its body as it grew? Alternatively, how long had it been roaming like that, unable to defend itself? He reached out again, slowly, and the dog leaned back to avoid his touch until it stumbled over its own feet, as if it lacked even the stability to stand right. When his hand finally touched the dog’s side, he just left it there a moment, letting the dog get used to it and closing his eyes to take a long, calming breath. He had to deal with this in a rational manner, and allowed this thought to diffuse throughout him.

“Okay, dog,” He said, moving forward to gently scoop the animal up with both arms, “Let’s clean you up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter title is brought to you by My favorite trope.
> 
> [EDITED 8/20/16]
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1: **Night 0 - Morning 1** After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash. To his great displeasure, he finds the culprit – an unconscious, immature skeletal creature he decides to pretend is a “dog”. And, since he’s not a piece of shit, goes, “Ah, fuck… Well, can’t let the miserable thing freeze to death, not can I?” and takes it home. 1785 words.  
>  Chapter 2: **Morning 1 - Evening 1** Grillby and the puppy aren’t getting along so well at first, but luckily Grillby has a high tolerance for stupidity and some past experience with dogs. It seems the dog has previously been trained by someone, as it responds to commands and seems to like to be talked to. Additionally, the little shit has managed to convince the elemental to feed it table scrapes. 2434 words.  
>  Chapter 3: **Morning 2** Grillby feeds the dog and get it to the bar. This is harder than it seems it should be, and the bartender can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 2796 words.  
>  Chapter 4: **Afternoon 2** Grillby breaks and repairs his glasses. There totally is NO foreshadowing going on here, what are you talking about? 1369 words.  
>  Chapter 5: **Evening 2** Grillby tries to make friend with the dog only to have it horribly backfire when he uses one particular command. 1850 words.  
>  Chapter 6: **Morning 5 – Afternoon 5** The dog is beginning to clearly not hate Grillby and Bailey more or less gut punches the bartender with some “Hey, dude, knock off the whole denial thing”. 3257 words.  
>  Chapter 7: **Evening 5** Remember how chapter 4 really didn’t have much to it? Welp, it was all a set up for this moment. Grillby once again notices a shiny thing on the dog, and finally manages to pin it to get a better look. Turns out it’s a collar, and not just that, a fairly terrible device (outlawed, in fact) used to restrain magical being via draining or “tapping” their magic. This discovery finally prompts Grillby to fully admit the whole “Dog is from a fucked up situation” thing, and he removes the collar. 2455 words.  
> 


	8. The Dogs are Letting Postmen Come and Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think this is very literally the closest thing to fluff we’ve ever had in this fic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Your comments have been great to read. In particular, I’m loving all the speculation on whether the dog is Sans or Papyrus. It’s great! It’s going to be a few chapters before you all get your answer, I’m afraid… But not super long! I already have that chapter written, in fact. :3
> 
> Here’s my question – what is your personal head cannon for what the other brother is doing right now? I already have my own answer, of course, but I really love to hear all your theories! Thanks for reading and any comment you can give me! Have a great day.

The dog stiffened and shivered, but otherwise failed to protest as Grillby transported it across the house to the restroom, where he placed it gently into the bathtub. It slid for a moment on the percaline surface before steadying itself, observing the elemental without vocalization or other response, eyes focusing and unfocusing at they followed him. He turned away, and there were little clicks as the dog shifted back and forth on its paws, but otherwise, silence until Grillby returned with rubber gloves and other necessary supplies.

The treatment Grillby gave the dog was quick and simple, but, he suspected, as efficient as would be necessary. The elemental himself winced more than the creature did as he cleaned the wound, first with cold running water and the gentle aid of a clean washcloth. Then, he dabbed it dry, shocked by the world of difference even this minimal treatment made. For good measure, he applied a magic-infused antibiotic ointment, something he didn’t even know he had before finding it in his medicine cabinet just then, making sure to spread it evenly over the raw, pitted surface of bone. Finally, Grillby wrapped the wound in a layer of gauze and medical tape, praying the animal wouldn’t take to scratching at the wrapping.

Leaning away, he surveyed the beast again. While he wasn’t exactly a medical professional, far from it, he was skilled enough with patching up monsters to know that with a bit of luck and a lot of care, the damage might heal with barely a scar. Amazing, considering the level of putrefaction it had originally seemed to bare. Luckily the injury was mostly superficial, Grillby realized. The band had probably cut into the animal’s surface slowly as it grew, leading to an injury that appeared much more alarming then it needed to. Perhaps it was the creature’s composition that saved it, the marrow-based biology preventing the circulation from getting cut off even as it was compressed, preventing a real case of gangrene from setting in.

“Well, then,” He commented, “How’s that feel, huh? Better?”

From the bathtub, the dog whined in response to his voice. It was watching Grillby now, though with none of the intensity it had earlier, peering at him with passive, subservient body language and an almost distant dimness to its eye lights. Its head was cocked to one side curiously, and Grillby wondered if the dog had had ears if they would be perked with curiosity or flagged back in submission. It snuffled a couple times, walking back and forth in the container before hesitantly putting a paw on the tub’s lip and scratching against it with its claw tips. A relatively gentle motion, more for communication of desire then functionality, and leading to a quick succession of tap-scrape, tap-scape, tap-scape noises.

“Time to get out?” The bartender said, his voice still guilty-soft, “Alright, I imagine we can do that… Almost bedtime, though, so I got to put you back in the crate soon here, okay, bub? Not right away, but soon, so we can sleep and you can heal… Uh-huh. No nighttime shenanigans for you; you’re already in rough enough shape.”

The dog whined as he spoke, recoiling slightly when he moved to pick it up, but Grillby barely even noticed. So long as it wasn’t growling or snapping at him or any other monster, he didn’t really care. Only aggression would not be tolerated, anything else the bartender felt was best dealt with through gentle, persistent methods. Praise and treats for good behavior, nothing for bad. Positive reinforcement. Eventually the dog would settle in, right?

As it was, he was a little surprised when it didn’t sprint away from him immediately, as he had grown accustomed to. Looking at the dog thoughtfully, the bartender noted again its sudden change in demeanor, going from a semi-feral, terrified beast to a shy lap-dog as it continued, still, to watch him. It was as if the dog were waiting for something, its head turned just a little sideways to one side, then the other as it watched the elemental. He reached out to it, waiting for the dog to pull away as it had so many times before, but instead finding his hand touching softly against the animal’s cranium. With a moment’s hesitation, he ran his touch backwards along the top of the skull, petting the dog lightly. The effect was instantaneous, the animal letting out a pent-up huff of air and taking two little steps closer to the elemental, pressing lightly into the touch. Rinse and repeat, and soon Grillby found himself sitting on his bathroom floor with the dog leaning into him as continued coddling the beast.

“Huh,” he said, “See, I said you were a good boy, didn’t I? Hm? Well, now… There you are, acting like this all of a sudden… Someone might think you’ve never had a kind touch in your life.”

The dog flopped on the floor beside him, shifting as it hesitantly placed its head in the elemental’s lap and gazed softly up at him. Grillby scoffed, smiling to himself and continuing to pet the animal. It was such a dramatic change from what he had come to expect, and made him happy to see the dog acting like what he had come to expect one to act like. After some time, it let out another great sigh and closed its eyes, stretching its forelimbs before it relaxed.

“Then again, doggy, I’m beginning to understand that maybe you haven’t.” He commented, frowning as he thought back to the collar. What did he do about this? Did you tell the royal guard about animal abuse? He didn’t really have anything that would link it to a suspect, the collar was completely without markings. Still, maybe they’d be interested in that? Magic taps _were_ illegal…

“If that’s the case, then, buddy, you must think you’re the luckiest dog in the universe right about now… Lucky, by the way, is another _stupid_ dog name. We’ll have to think of something better than that, won’t we? Yeah, we will… because I’m not keeping any stupidly named dog, you hear?”

Grillby tried scratching along the animal’s largest skull ridge, and it seemed to respond positively, the sound like dropped beads sounding as it actually wagged its tail and… thrummed? It was an odd noise, when he stopped to look down at the dog in concern, it stopped and blinked up at him, then the hand that he’d withdrawn. Shifting its head, it touched against his palm with a huff, as though asking him to continue, and resumed the strange rumbling hum when he did. Was it purring? Grillby shook his head at the thought…

“Strange-ass-dog-ass,” He said, running his hand down to massage the animal’s shoulder blades, to which it sighed again, moving so the elemental had better access. “You really are just a weird little thing, you know that? But I guess I’ll keep you around… Yeah, I’m that big of a sucker for anything that can pretend that it likes me for a while. Really do have to sort out a name for you, though, and while it’s a bloody awful dog name I must admit I’m tempted to call you Fluffy. Or Mr. Whiskers? Princess Whiskers if it turns out you’re a girl. Uh-huh, dog, what do you think? Are you a Fluffy or a Something-Whiskers? Heh… Pretty funny, if you’ve got a bad sense of humor… Maybe you do. Not like I speak skele-dog, how would I know?”

Several minutes passed like this, the creature purring while Grillby murmured to it and pet it. Eventually, the strange thrumming noise died down and the elemental found himself in the terrible position of having to wake the animal up right after they’d just seemed to make peace with each other.

“Shit,” he swore under his breath before tapping against the animal’s ribcage lightly, “Come on, Fluffy. Afraid you need to get up. I’ve got to go to sleep, too.”

The thought of the dog at the foot of his bed hung in Grillby’s mind for a moment before he dismissed it. He still didn’t know much about the animal’s temperament and personality, what glimpses he caught undoubtedly warped by what must have been near constant pain. People did that sort of thing all the time - they got too comfortable with an animal too quickly - and not often, but sometimes, it ended in heartbreak. When the dog finally roused, it was with a growling moan of objection, cut short when it found itself abruptly curled right up against the elemental. It seemed like its eyes bugged out as it froze, and Grillby chuckled halfheartedly, mind still preoccupied with what to do and beginning to fog with lethargy.

“Come on,” he said, getting up in the slow, groaning manner only people fully grown and exhausted can quite manage, like a drunk giant or a someone underwater, “ **with me**.”

Immediately, the dog was standing, tracing his steps for the short journey to the living room, where Grillby crouched to get a better look at his current pooch containment system. It was old, and meant for a smaller animal. Kick-me-dogs, he used to say, because normally he got his dogs young enough that they were mostly trained by the time they outgrew it. Looking at the half-grown mutt before him, he wondered how old it was. Hard to tell with just a skeleton. Regardless, they needed a new cage, something bigger and less rusted.

“ **Kennel** ,” he commanded, and predictably the animal balked. “I know, I know… Look, it’s all I got right now. I’ll work on getting you something better soon, alright, Fluffy?”

The dog seemed to blink at him, and then slowly trudged into the crate with begrudging acceptance. Grillby wondered if it was already catching on to its new name, or if it was just coincidence. Whatever the case, finding a new cage was easier said than done. Resources in the underground were scarce, and it was hardly like he personally could go and search the dumps. To damn dangerous for him, he’d have to pay someone to do it. Even then, who know if they’d find anything, and if they did, what would they charge for a specialty item like that? Maybe he could outfit the bathroom to accommodate it more permanently. It wasn’t like he really used it, and the dog had already stayed there one night… 

Whatever. He was tired. Even Fluffy was already asleep again. He should go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today’s chapter title brought to you by [“The Calm Before The Storm”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=weu3KnAhxhU) by Sparkz because I saw this awesome and weird music video and decided “Okay, sure, why not?”
> 
>  
> 
> **This chapter official finishes arch one, “Bartender and The Beast”. Yay! :-)**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> N/A  
> Chapter 1: **Night 0 - Morning 1** After a particularly rough day (and night) of work, Grillby begrudgingly revisits his alleyway in the wee hours of the morning to prevent vermin from getting into his trash. To his great displeasure, he finds the culprit – an unconscious, immature skeletal creature he decides to pretend is a “dog”. And, since he’s not a piece of shit, goes, “Ah, fuck… Well, can’t let the miserable thing freeze to death, not can I?” and takes it home. It wakes the next morning with a bit of a bad attitude, but despite this our elemental friend manages to coral it for the moment…1785 words.  
>  Chapter 2: **Morning 1 - Evening 1** Grillby and the puppy aren’t getting along so well at first, but luckily Grillby has a high tolerance for stupidity and some past experience with dogs. Though things aren’t going great between the two, it seems the dog has previously been trained by someone, as it responds to commands and seems to like to be talked to. Additionally, the little shit has managed to convince the elemental to feed it table scrapes. What could possibly go wrong? 2434 words.  
>  Chapter 3: **Morning 2** Grillby feeds the dog and get it to the bar. This is harder than it seems it should be, and the bartender can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 2796 words.  
>  Chapter 4: **Afternoon 2** Grillby breaks and repairs his glasses. There totally is NO foreshadowing going on here, what are you talking about? 1369 words.  
>  Chapter 5: **Evening 2** Grillby tries to make friend with the dog only to have it horribly backfire when he uses one particular command. 1850 words.  
>  Chapter 6: **Morning 5 – Afternoon 5** The dog is beginning to clearly not hate Grillby and Bailey more or less gut punches the bartender with some “Hey, dude, knock off the whole denial thing”. 3257 words.  
>  Chapter 7: **Evening 5** Remember how chapter 4 really didn’t have much to it? Welp, it was all a set up for this moment. Grillby once again notices a shiny thing on the dog, and finally manages to pin it to get a better look. Turns out it’s a collar, and not just that, a fairly terrible device (outlawed, in fact) used to restrain magical being via draining or “tapping” their magic. This discovery finally prompts Grillby to fully admit the whole “Dog is from a fucked up situation” thing, and he removes the collar. 2455 words.  
>  Chapter 8: **Night 5** I think this might honestly be the closest to fluff we’ve ever gotten. Literally a nice little chapter where Grillby patches up the dog and they cuddle a bit on the bathroom floor before Grillby needs to go to bed. The most important part of this is that Grillby officially decides to keep the dog and names it Fluffy. 1751 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	9. If Only It Did Have Hands, If Only It Did…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This is interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of second arc. Thanks for sticking with the story this far! I appreciate it. Any comments you can give would be very welcome. :-)

Grillby hadn’t expressly wanted a child in his care… it just ended up that way.

The morning after he removed the collar, he awoke at his normal time, wandered to the living room, glanced to the dog crate, and promptly turned himself back around to lie in bed for a while. He intended to get more sleep, take a day off and rest, since he was obviously ill. Very ill. Hallucinating and everything. But an unfortunately large part of him was quite aware of the reality of his situation and it kept him awake until he went back to the living room to check again.

Grillby stood, blinking in the darkness illuminated only by his own flame, at a naked skeleton child sleeping quite peacefully in his dog’s cage. He opened his mouth, flabbergasted, then closed it, before moving forward on numb legs toward the cage. The creak of the door opening woke the child, and _they_ blinked blearily as they pushed themselves to a sitting position. The surrealism of the moment was too much for the poor bartender, and he reached into the cage a little too quickly, causing the child to pull back in obvious fright, eyes widening with a sudden acute awareness. Instantly, the elemental pulled away himself without so much as touching the child and took a few steps away from the crate as he rubbed his temples, then his neck.

“…Fuck.” He said simply, to himself, before turning back to find the child had removed themselves from the cage and was now sitting cross legged on the floor, gazing up at the elemental, head tilted in exactly the same manner as “Fluffy” tilted its head.

Slowly, Grillby approached the kid again, sitting himself down next to the child. It was a welcome feeling to be so much closer to the floor. The floor felt… solid, unlike the elemental’s legs. He reached out towards the child, and this time they didn’t react as Grillby brushed against them, as though checking they were real before furthering his investigation. Curling his hand gently, ever so gently, beneath the child’s chin, he moved it upward, finding the bandage he’d applied attached to the base of the skull exactly as he would’ve guessed it would be given the new anatomy. 

Grillby found he needed to be closer to the floor. Laying back, the bartender stared vacantly at his ceiling for a while, his mind more or less a blank slate of shock and guilt. He closed his eyes, focused on his breathing, and just existed for a moment. That seemed hard enough right now. He’d fucked up a lot lately, and really didn’t want to add “existing” to his list of failures.

He started when he opened his eyes, finding the child’s face obtrusively close to his own, staring down at him.

“Surface sake!” He exclaimed, jumping to sit up after the child startled away from him again, “Kid! You! I mean… What the hell? Just - what the hell! What the _goddamn, mother fu…_ ” 

He caught himself, this time, “ _What the hell?!_ ”

The child retreated from the elemental on all fours, a look of fear replacing the neutral curiosity that their face bore earlier. Grillby watched them, gawking as the child glanced at him and _whined_ , shifting nervously in front of the dog crate. Still overwhelmed and processing, the bartender didn’t take action as the child dropped their head submissively and cringed. After a few seconds of careful consideration, the child turned and started to crawl back into the cage.

“ _Don’t_ -” Grillby said sharply, then immediately corrected his tone to something gentler after the child abruptly froze, “Don’t do that, _okay_ , kiddo? I didn’t mean to scare you. You can come out, alright? I’m, uh… I’m sorry. You startled me.”

The kid seemed to consider for a moment, then turned back to Grillby and sat on their knees, arms tense and supporting much of their weight as they waited for the elemental to make the next move. Grillby tried to regain his composure before standing, his magic jittering and swirling in all sorts of interesting ways as he took a step towards the child and extended a hand, offering to help the kid up. The child sniffed, and obvious enough noise even in this form thanks to their minor sickness, and followed the stretched appendage back to the elemental’s face. With a thoughtful frown, they wrinkled their brow and looked back to the hand. Then, leaned forward, rubbing the crown of their head against the back of Grillby’s hand.

It took a moment for the elemental to connect the dots, but when he did he jerked back due to disturbed reflex. The child was expecting _to be pet_. Of course, this automatic reaction only served to further upset the kid, who shrunk a bit, letting out another little moaning-whine of uncertainty.

“Easy, there…” Grillby said softly, forcing himself to speak and reach out again, “You’re alright. Just give me your hand, okay? So we can go sit at the table?”

The child looked up as him, large eyes wide and confused before hesitantly placing their hand into his. Grillby closed his own around it, lightly, and made a motion to pull the child up. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to grasp the concept, and he just ended up elevating their arm awkwardly above them.

Grillby made a little “tsst” noise of despair, then asked, “Can you stand?”

After a long pause where the child shifted themselves side to side nervously, they pulled themselves up onto wobbly legs. Grillby forced a smile, thankful that the kid seemed to understand him and took a small step sideways, hoping to lead the kid forward. On the first step they stumbled, but didn’t quiet fall, and while they seemed to stabilize as they moved forward, it was slow going. Abruptly, Grillby had the realization that the kid hadn’t walked on two legs for at least six days, probably longer, and stopped, waiting for the child to steady themselves.

“Okay, kiddo… How about I carry you instead?” When the child didn’t respond, the bartender sighed, before muttering, “Okay, okay… Okay, yeah, _okay_. I’m going to pick you up now.”

With that, he knelt, grabbing the kid below the armpits and lifting them up. They went completely slack in his arms, and he had to adjust accordingly, cradling them much closer and more securely to his chest then he had originally intended for such a short trip. To his surprise, this seemed to please the child, as they let out a little hum of pleasure. Warmth, he thought, as the cool surface of their bone sapped away some of his heat. They were cold. 

They seemed disappointed as he put them down, frowning but not making any noise. Instead, they wrapped their arms around themselves and shivered, bones rattling together. No wonder – the furnace hadn’t been working for a few weeks now, but Grillby hadn’t had the time to look at it yet. It simply wasn’t a priority for him, not compared to the bar, and it had hardly crossed his mind in the past few days with the complication of the dog in his normally hectic life.

“Stay here,” Grillby told them after a moment of quiet contemplation, “I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, the bartender gave them a shirt to put on, but they only looked at the folds of fabric blankly. Grillby frowned, swallowed nervously, and took it back from the child before dressing them himself. The entire time, the kid just stared at him with a muddled expression that slowly morphed into something more positive as the elemental did the buttons for them. Not a smile. It was too worried, too meek to be a smile, and reminded Grillby again of the things he’d done to this kid. They must hate him, he thought they should, and yet the look they fixed him with was pleasant, without a trace of discernable spite. 

Surface sake, what had the kid been through? That fucking collar…

“What am I doing?” Grillby started saying as he completed the mindless task, unaware that he had fallen into the habit of speaking aloud to himself after doing it intentionally for the past few days, “ _What_ the _hell_ am I _even_ doing? _Fuck_ …”

“Okay,” he said, now addressing the child in a smooth, gentle voice, and patting their now fabric clad shoulders. He was trying to act normal, but there were very few ‘normal’ things for him to cling to at this point. “There you are. Now, how about I make us some breakfast?”

The child only blinked in response, but Grillby ignored that, rather set on avoiding the situation at hand until he’d at least woken up completely. He continued to speak intermittently as he cooked, and with nothing better to do, the child watched and listened, just as they had for the past several days.

They liked Bartender, as they had come to know Grillby through the elemental’s ramblings regarding himself. That was his identity – weird old, stupid old, ridiculous _Bartender_ talking to a mutt, a puppy-pup, a dog – it didn’t take them very long to figure that out. Their own identity was harder – were they ‘kid’ now? Bartender kept changing it, but that hardly mattered to them. They could be a good boy and that _was_ important, because it should be very hard to be a good boy. But being a good boy was easy with Bartender, because Bartender didn’t hurt them a lot and took the collar off and had them to do easy things.

He was a little bit like Green Man that way, because Green Man didn’t really care what they did when he took them so long as they didn’t misbehave, he was too busy working. That was just like Bartender, because Bartender worked a lot and didn’t make them do things while he was busy. But unlike Bartender, Green Man never took the collars off, and when they were bad Green Man would get very angry. Green Man wasn’t scary, not like Doctor Gaster or Ann, but he wasn’t nearly as nice as Bartender. Bartender even gave them good food for being a good boy, a lot of it, and only Medousa was supposed to do that. It was almost impossible to be a good boy for Medousa, particularly when they were with the others.

They were very uncertain right now, though, because Bartender was clearly upset but was treating them even nicer then he had before. It didn’t make a lot of sense, and they were very scared of being bad right now. When people were upset, the punishments were always harsher, and they didn’t know how Bartender would punish them anyway. Additionally, there was a lot of _new_ happening, too, and when _new_ happened, it was easy to be bad. 

It didn’t help that they were bad last time _new_ had happened, and they hadn’t been punished for that yet. Very, very bad. The memory still made their feet itch and their soul hurt. They didn’t want to be bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is an homage to a wonderful movie titled [“The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdPWcEVFpzc), which you should totally go watch _right now_. To answer your first question, yes, it is a full length film. Go watch it.
> 
> [EDITED 8/20/16]
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1-8: **Night 0 – Night 5** These chapters make up arc 1, “Bartender and The Beast”. You can find the timeline for it at the end of Chapter 8.  
>  Chapter 9: **Morning 6** After a particularly rough night in which Grillby finally decides to keep the dog due to his discovery of the collar, the bartender experiences quite the shock when he wakes to discover a child inside the animal’s cage. Instead of immediately confronting the problem, our champion of denial has decided to make the kid breakfast, mostly because he’s fucking terrified that either he’s gone crazy or he’ll make a really bad situation worse if he doesn’t have time to consider his actions carefully. Also, we had a little section from the kid’s POV! Wow, there’s a LOT of characters added there, isn’t there? 1695 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	10. Nuclear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby continues to have a _melt_ down. Heh.  
> [I’m not sorry and neither is my beta.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Grillby reads a bit too frantic and selfish in this chapter, but I want to remind the reader that he’s probably only woken up maybe… half an hour ago, tops? That’s my shit excuse, anyway. Lol.
> 
> Thanks for reading. I really appreciate it, as well as any comments you might be willing to leave. Have a good day, all! :-)

After he finished scraping the contents of the pan onto a plate, Grillby set the food down in order to find some silverware for the child. He must’ve put it down a little quickly, though, because the plate clattered loudly against the countertop, causing the elemental himself to jump. Shit. Was he really that upset? He glanced nervously over to where the child sat and found them staring at him with an uncomfortable alertness. When his gaze met theirs, they dropped it abruptly, looking down to their own dangling feet below them and kicking a little. He was scaring them, wasn’t he? As if this whole situation wasn’t already enough, he was scaring them. _Wonderful_.

“Okay, Grillby… Calm the fuck down.” The bartender whispered to himself, turning away from the child to brace himself against the countertop. He couldn’t do this right now; the kid had already been through enough. Last night, though… And he thought he was being such a good person saving some unwanted mongrel from dusting.

“Yeah, calm isn’t happening right now. _I_ put a _kid_ in a fucking _cage_...” The bartender’s tone was dark, and he laughed bitterly as a stray thought struck him, “Dogaressa’s going to love that. Hey, Dogi? You remember that little puppy-pup I asked your advice about? You know, the one I found half dusted in my alleyway and _totally knew for sure wasn’t intelligent?_ Well...” 

He trailed off again, leaning onto his elbows as he closed his eyes and cradled his head in his hands. What the hell was he going to do? Would anyone even believe the situation was an honest mistake? Five goddamn days. He’d had this kid with him for _five goddamn days_ and not once had he questioned his original assumption of them being just another magical animal. Would he even blame the guard if they tried to detain him? What he did was objectively wrong, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. The best he could do was be honest about the situation. Even if it went poorly for him, he probably wouldn’t get in too much trouble. He wasn’t the one who abandoned… Who abused… 

_Shit_. Just _shit_. If this thing blew up – and it would blow up, the underground was always desperate for a story – and he was caught in the middle of it, it was conceivable for him to lose the bar. If he got tied up with a trial or whatever legal bullshit was about to be the underground’s grim entertainment, the simple fact was that food didn’t keep for long and was always in high demand. Not only could he lose all the stock he had in bar itself, he could also lose his suppliers to competition. 

What was he going to do if that happened? The restaurant was his life, something he had been able to pour himself into after everything else important to him cracked and shattered and blew away. He didn’t know who he’d be without it at this point, and at the same time he hated that he was even thinking about that right now. 

He wasn’t the fucking victim, he’d be able to find something to do. Maybe he’d move back to Hotland, get some dead end, made-up job out there and force himself to socialize. The ironic thing was that it would probably be good for him, even if the thought itself tore his core to pieces. The point was, whatever happened to him, it hardly mattered. Right now, while he was having his own little self-obsessed temper tantrum, there was a kid who’d been through… 

What _the fuck had_ they been through? 

What did he know? Passed out in his alleyway, kiddo woke up in his bath tub without any idea what was going on, only to be forced into a kennel. Then what? Put on a lead, dragged through the snow, and then left in the back room of a bar alone with a torture device wrapped around their neck. The only good thing he’d possibly done for them was get that goddamn little _treat_ off, but now he was letting their fucking eggs get cold while he worried about himself.

“What the fuck, Grillby?” He muttered, finally pushing himself up, away from the counter and fishing in the drawer for a fork. Cold eggs seemed really insignificant right now, but so were his own hypothetical troubles. Fuck him. He had to stop this and start moving. Feed the kid, call the guard. It really was that simple. “Just feed the kid and call the guard, because they’ll know what to do.”

The elemental paused, looking down at the silverware in his hand as he rubbed the back of his neck. Was he really still doing this? “Shit. Shut up, you can deal with this. Stop swearing too, there’s a child present, and for _fuck’s_ sake stop talking to yourself. _Yeah_. Okay, _great_.” 

He took a large, sobering breath and picked up the plate, wondering if he’d seasoned the food enough, then if that really mattered since he’d fed the kid dog food for the past week. That thought would’ve been enough to make him queasy if he hadn’t been already. He barely liked feeding the _dogs_ that shit, and this kid had been digging through _garbage_ before he found them. They should’ve gotten better.

The child went stiff when he approached, legs going abruptly still after they’d swung them the entire time he was cooking. How old were they, then, if their feet didn’t touch the ground when they were sitting down? The kid was sitting very rigid in the seat, though, tailbone pressed right up against the back of the chair. Maybe it wasn’t so much that their feet couldn’t touch so much as the way they were sitting? Either way, it was hard to guess their age based on appearance, and their personality certainly wasn’t giving any hints either. Silent and meek, everything about them looked uncomfortable. Dark eyes and their associated pinpricks of light followed the elemental intently as he sat next to them, far enough away thanks to the curve of the table that he wouldn’t be able to touch them unless they moved forward, even if he fully extended his arm.

“Hey…” Grillby said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, “Are you hungry?”

The kid didn’t respond, didn’t nod or anything, and Grillby swallowed. The kid had been abused, and not just your garden variety trauma, either. What if… What if they really didn’t understand him? Or had some kind of disorder? He shouldn’t jump to conclusions, though. If the kid didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t force them. Instead, he just reached forward and slid the plate of scrambled eggs towards them, the unpolished ceramic of the bottom of it making a rough scraping sound over the stained and worn table. 

He wished he had something more substantial for the child, but he really didn’t keep much in his house. Just the basics and a bit of junk food for midnight snacking. Most of his meals came from the bar, and he really didn’t eat much for breakfast. Toast with a little oil on it, or dry cereal… He’d been leaving his crusts for the dog the past few days just because it seemed to make the animal so happy to get them.

The child looked at it for only a moment before their attention snapped back to him, eyes wide as they smelled the air, making little sniffing noises as they did so. It was dark in here, wasn’t it? A lot of people didn’t like to eat when they couldn’t see, and Grillby’s flame, while luminous, wasn’t nearly as bright as it seemed it should be. Bright enough for him, he was used to it, but maybe the kid would be more comfortable eating if he turned a light on? Worth a shot, at least.

The elemental moved cautiously as he stood up and walked slowly to the center of the room to turn the overhead light on. He might be the only monster in Snowdin to have an actual freaking ceiling fan, but Grillby couldn’t stand stagnant air, and there was plenty of that in the underground. His biggest fear was being snuffed out due to lack of oxygen. Water was one thing, but at least that’d be quick, in theory at least, while watching people snuff candles under glasses never failed to send thrill of anxiety down the elementals back. It wasn’t a realistic fear – he knew that – but often the _still_ of the underground got to him, and turning the fan on sometimes helped with the irrational phobia.

Kiddo was still watching him when he sat down again, blinking in the sudden off-yellow light of ancient, cheap lightbulbs. It wasn’t harsh exactly, but Grillby imagined the child had gotten used to the gentle shadows of his house during their stint as the family pet. Fuck, had he ever turned on a light while they were around? Yes, he decided he had. A few times, actually, while reading after work. The dog had always hopped onto the loveseat across from him, and he’d just thought the mutt had found a place it actually liked to sit down every once and a while when it wasn’t pacing the house obsessively, but now the bartender wondered if the kid had just been thirsty for light.

“You, uh… Are you going to eat?” The bartender asked. If the eggs weren’t cold when he put them in front of the child, they were now. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want, but I-”

Grillby cut off abruptly when the child lunged forward to the plate, grabbing chunks of egg with their bare hands with complete disregard for the silverware before them. The bartender must’ve gawked at them, because with the food halfway to their mouth the child froze, a look of fear replacing what had been a sort of blind eagerness as they looked at him again. A soft, wordless whine escaped from behind nervously clenched teeth before they quickly put the food back on the plate, nearly tossing it away from themselves. A lone piece of egg fell away from the rest and rolled lopsided across the table as the child pushed themselves, somehow, even further back into the chair, bringing their leg up on the seat to curl up defensively.

“Um…” Grillby hadn’t expected that, not at all. In retrospect it made sense, but… Fuck it. He’d roll with it.

“Sorry,” He started, uselessly, “I- The eggs _are_ for you, so… Go ahead and eat them, if you’re hungry.”

The child eyed him, head lowered like a beaten dog as their gaze flicking down to the food every now and then. Grillby wasn’t really sure if the kid understood or not, and was leaning towards not when they reached forward with one arm, this time very slowly. Watching the bartender closely, they moved not for the plate, but the stray piece that had journeyed closer to them and away from the bartender. When they picked it up, the fragment squished slightly between their thumb and forefinger, and they brought it carefully to their mouth, all the while still staring at the elemental. They nibbled at the egg with their front teeth, and when it was gone, they crossed their arms over their knees again and canted their head to one side, looking to the plate more frequently and obviously now, as though asking for permission they already had.

“You can… go ahead. Eat.” Grillby repeated. When the kid didn’t react, he leaned over the table, resting some of his weight on his own crossed arms. The added tension in his shoulders felt nice, in a way, distracting him from the discomfort settling in his gut. Why wasn’t the kid eating? They were obviously hungry, and the way they looked at him, too, like they were seeking guidance or praise or… reproach.

Grillby reached out snagged the fork from where it lay abandoned, playing with it briefly before offering it to the kid directly. He wasn’t sure how he could be clearer, but the kid just looked at the combination of shiny metal and well-worn, slightly melted plastic with vacancy written on their face. Grillby’s own brow creased curiously at the child’s confusion, before smoothing as a frown curved his lips. Was it really possible that kiddo wasn’t used to silverware?

It was a stupid thought, but Grillby indulged out of desperation. If this didn’t work, he’d just go straight to calling the guard. Honestly, he knew he should anyway, but he wanted to try to show the child he wasn’t a bad guy first. Spearing one of the smaller pieces of egg, one he thought hadn’t been in the child’s hand earlier, the elemental brought it to his mouth and swallowed without chewing. Just as he’d suspected, the eggs were stone cold and under seasoned, which somehow managed to make him feel ashamed on top of guilty. He offered the fork’s handle to the child again, and this time they took it, their body posture somewhat more relaxed as they adjusted their grip on the device.

_Clank_

The child stabbed the prongs directly into the middle of the plate and paused, looking expectantly at Grillby. He nodded encouragingly, and they mimicked him as best they could, bringing the food to their mouth and biting down. The bartender suppressed a wince, their teeth meeting the metal with what clearly sounded like a painful amount of force. They paused again, eyed him cautiously, but didn’t wait for his approval before continuing, their movements becoming fluid and more rapid as they grew more confident in the action. Still, they were barely halfway through when Grillby risked interrupting them.

“Kiddo, you can try being a little softer… They’re just eggs.” He commented, “Don’t hurt yourself.”

The child frowned and stared at the plate. Softer? Don’t hurt themselves? These seemed like strange commands to be given, rather like something that would turn out to be much harder than it sounded. So, they concentrated very hard on being gentle when they pierced their next bite of sustenance and bit into it, finding almost immediately that Bartender had a point. When they were careful like this, the metal didn’t sting against their teeth as much. Earlier, they’d been too concentrated just on eating to notice the difference. 

A little, unusual bubble of self-satisfaction and happiness welled within their soul, and they looked up at Bartender expectantly. Were they good? He was smiling, sort of, surely that meant they were good.

“Maybe not that soft, kiddo.”

Oh. The bubble popped, and the child poked awkwardly at what was left on their plate. They shouldn’t eat this…

“Done?” Bartender asked, and after a moment, he stood, taking the plate with him. The child watched it go, but they weren’t about to protest, especially when Bartender reached forward and… Took the fork from them. He just wanted the fork. Huh. The kid tried to relax, but it was hard because Bartender was still acting weird and _new_ was still happening. He watched as Bartender put the plate in the sink, which was almost normal, except that Bartender himself hadn’t eaten. Bartender always ate, and ate first, before kiddo was even let out in the morning. That was the way it was supposed to work.

They were preparing to go to the door and walk to the bar when Bartender walked back to the table and sat down again, causing further anxiety in the child. They weren’t completely sure, because there were late days, but shouldn’t they be leaving now? If they weren’t leaving, what were they doing?

“Can you talk?”

The question caught the child completely off guard, and they cringed back, blinking in surprise. Talk? Them? They _weren’t_ supposed to-

“Kiddo? Easy, it’s just a question, but…” Bartender added, the lack of harshness in his words temporarily pacifying the child as they forced themselves to listen, “Do you understand what I’m saying? Can you speak?”

Fear flooded through their soul. Did he know? If he didn’t, why was he asking? An agonized whine escaped the child, and they pulled their legs up tight against them again, trying to muffle the noise by burying their face in their kneecaps. It just kept coming, though, welling out of their chest because they knew _he knew_ that they were _bad_.

“ _Shit_ \- No, calm down. It’s okay, kid.” 

Something warm touched their shoulder - Barkeeper’s hand. Gentle at first, the grip quickly tightened, and the child curled deeper into themselves in preparation, finally choking off that horrible whining. The hand left suddenly, and they knew what that meant, except it never came.

Instead, there was only Bartender’s voice, soft and surprised. 

“Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title derived from the term [“Nuclear Meltdown”](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuclear_meltdown) due to the handy little blurb of “Nuclear meltdown is an informal term for a severe nuclear reactor accident that results in core damage from overheating”, because Grillby has a core and is kind of having a meltdown right now. It’ll be fine though, I’m sure! :’-)
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1-8: **Night 0 – Night 5** These chapters make up arc 1, “Bartender and The Beast”. You can find the timeline for it at the end of Chapter 8.  
>  Chapter 9: **Morning 6** After removing the collar and deciding to keep the dog, Grillby wakes the next morning to find a child in the kennel. Since he’s kind of freaking out, he makes the kid breakfast instead of actually confronting the problem. We also get a bit of the kid’s POV. 1695 words.  
>  Chapter 10: **Morning 6**. Grillby considers the possible outcomes of reporting his situation to the royal guard, continues to freak out about how utterly screwed he is and the types of things he’s put this kid through. Also, the glorious fruit of the noble hen. 2810 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	11. Fearful Furnace Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long chapter in which a lot happens, but nothing particularly interesting. It is reveled, however, that Grillby has secretly been Elsa all along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doodle mentioned she was re-reading WITD to me… Somehow I didn’t get the memo, though, so from here on out, “Whispers in the Dark” shall be forever known as “Willfully Initiated Turtle Determination”, because that’s what I thought she was talking about. If you haven’t read [Turtle Determination](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6158718/chapters/14111148), by the way, please do. It’s by far the best Woshua centric fanfic out there. _Really_.
> 
> The real reason why I bring this up, by the way, is because the title of this fic is frustrating me. I agonized for hours, literally, debating between “Brother, Brother, Father, Son”, “Brother, Brother, Father, Sun”, and the current title. I really wish I had gone with one of the other ones now, but… Whatever, you know? I don’t want to make finding this fic harder for anyone at this point.
> 
> Also, thanks for reading this. It’s nice, I appreciate it.

“Okay, _where the fuck are you_?” Grillby said, a righteous frustration burning within him as he continued to speak heatedly into the receiver, “I _know_ you have to be legitimately busy, I _know_ that, but… I’ve called who knows how many times at this point, and it’s been hours. What is this, the third – no, fourth message I’ve left? And it’s _fine_ , I mean… Kiddo’s _fine_ , but…”

Grillby trailed off, a sudden guilt hitting him. How long had it been, really? Not that long, it still wasn’t even lunchtime yet. He’d just expected a near instantaneous reaction for something like this. The few times he’d had to call the guard in the past, they’d always been there within a soul beat, and an abandoned and abused child was a much bigger issue than the few incidents he’d been involved with in the past. The Snowdin Canine Unit were good people, though; he knew all six of them personally from the bar. If they were getting his messages and weren’t swamped with something more immediate, they _would_ be there to help him and the child.

“ _Shit_ …” The bartender hissed, “Look, I’m sorry. Just call me back ASAP. I’m in over my head with this kid. They’re well behaved, I guess, if that’s what you want to call it, but… Well, you’ve heard my other messages. Get back to me soon, yeah?”

With that as his final statement, the elemental hung up and leaned against the wall behind him. He’d stepped into the bathroom to avoid bothering the child with his conversation, and now stared into the mirror which reflected him clearly in the dim lighting. He was almost surprised to see how normal he looked. Still in his pajamas at half to noon, maybe, but what did that really matter? Despite everything, it was still just him in the mirror.

Things seemed quiet now, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Twice now he’d tried to get the kid to communicate, and both times they’d essentially freaked the fuck out or come close to it, their magic – something that had been essentially absent between the time he found them and the time he took the collar off – surging with emotion. Though he tried to ignore it at first, as was polite in monster culture, he wasn’t able to disregard something like that for long. When he’d touched them the first time, by the table, it had taken him by surprise, the ferocity and clarity of their mentality.

“ _Fear_ ”, their magic told him, “ _confusion_.”

And given their interaction up to that point, it made sense to the elemental that they would feel that way, particularly given the situation. He still didn’t understand, exactly – he just wanted to know if they could communicate – but the general idea didn’t shock him. “ _Bad_ ”, though… That really got his attention. It wasn’t a generalized ‘bad’ like “this is bad” or “that is bad”, but something sharp and pointed and _dreaded_ by the child. A self-accusation that, worst of all, anticipated correction.

And what did he do in response? Pulled away, because there was no way in _hell_ he knew how to deal with that, and the last thing he wanted to do was make it worse.

The child bolted from the chair after that and paced around the stairwell, avoiding him to the best of their abilities until they found an opportunity to make their way into the dog crate again. He’d let them stay there while he called the guard the first few times, dialing repeatedly to find no one was there until he left a long-winded and disorganized message outlining the situation. After that, he’d paced the house in much the same way the kid had, angry with himself and worried and sick. He looked into the crate every time he passed it, stopping when he realized, very suddenly, that there was a skeleton dog in there again and not a child. When they realized he was looking, they shook, letting out a low, plaintive moan and burying their face into the bedding that lined the bottom of the cage. The bartender blinked, then made his way stiffly to the love seat to sit down.

That animal _was_ a child, right? He knew he wasn’t nuts, but despite that, a small thread of doubt floated through him. Monsters changing form – that wasn’t unusual, exactly, Astigmatisms did that, and so did Moldbyggs – but to change so completely was unprecedented. Could it be that he was just losing it? There’d been plenty of times when he’d wondered about himself, and he had managed to isolate himself quite solidly in the land of snow; he wasn’t sure if anyone would notice if he did fall off his rocker. He was just the bartender here, and that was rather how he liked it, able to interact and have friends without ever getting too close to anyone. Whatever. Either way, it was good he called the guard.

An eerie calm had settled over him, then, and he left the dog-child in the crate for a while because it seemed as though they were treating it was some sanctuary that he did not want to intrude. What would he do if he did? Sit them on the couch and tell them everything was okay? Everything was _not_ okay, and he wasn’t about to pretend it was, especially if it turned out he was having complex hallucinations due to his lack of societal interaction and Fluffy really was just a damn canine. Grillby called the guard again, his tone less frantic as he found himself far more capable of explaining what had happened. The dog, he reiterated to the answering machine, was a child and had had an illegal device bound to them.

The magic tap, at least, didn’t transform and was still sitting like a loaded gun in the otherwise empty drawer of his nightstand, which he locked. He hated that it was there, yet also found its existence strangely reassuring. The kid didn’t change form until the collar was taken off, which meant it was likely used to prevent their transformation or any other use of the child’s magic. Even if the kid was in their animal form when the guard showed up, at least the elemental had some tangible evidence of his story.

By the time he came out of his bedroom, the kid was a kid again, and the bartender noticed for the first time how much better they fit in the cage that way. He wasn’t sure if it was an actual change in size or just the change in shape that gave that impression, but when they were bipedal, their curled up resting position seemed less forced and more a matter of comfort. They had calmed considerably, eyes closed and breathing even, and Grillby wondered if they had really fallen asleep like that just when they opened their eyes, bright white pinpricks focusing on him to stare.

“Hey,” He had said, because sure, why not? ‘Hey’ was a totally appropriate thing to say to an easily set off, spontaneously transforming child you barely know, right? _Obviously_. 

“How about we find you some more clothing? Maybe… Maybe check on that neck wound? Then after that, I’ll see if I can find something fun for you to do.”

The kid sat up in the dog crate and looked at him with a small frown.

“Please come out,” The bartender said, not processing that the word he had used was a command until the kid very quickly left the cage and walked over to him, keeping their eyes downcast as they approached. When he put it together, he just breathed a big sigh, carefully keeping himself calm as he led the child to his bedroom and started sorting through old clothing. Eventually he found a pair of drawstring cargo pants that were missing their removable portion. He didn’t think he’d ever worn them, and tossed what were essentially capris to the child, only to have them give them the same look the shirt had received before Grillby begrudgingly dressed them again.

Grillby was not a tall monster. Not small, either, as he seemed slightly taller than the average human by pure virtue of his flame, but certainly no goliath. This being said, the pants were still a bit too long on the child. Not drastically so, but enough that Grillby tried to roll up the cuffs before finding that the thin tan fabric simply would not cooperate and gave up. The waist not only had to be cinched, but re-cinched, but in the end the child was finally clothed in a full, if incredibly baggy, outfit.

The neck wound was clean, if still terrible looking, seeping slightly where removing the bandage had torn off bits of magical scabbing. With extreme tenderness, Grillby tried to treat it again before wrapping it up and looking to the child. They seemed a little zoned out, and he noticed that they had a bad habit of sticking their hands in their mouth, and particularly of chewing at their own knuckles. This seemed mostly harmless, but every now and then it produced a little popping noise that he wasn’t sure what was, and against his better judgement he tried to intervene.

“Don’t do that,” he said, pulling their hand gently away from their face, “That’s… Gross. Bleh. If you wash your hands, maybe I can get you something better to chew on, okay? How’s that sound?”

The kid didn’t react and Grillby no longer expected them to, instead just wetting a washcloth quickly to wipe down their hands. Sure enough, one of their knuckles seemed freshly bruised, and he put a band aid on it even though it wouldn’t really help. The kid looked at it when he pulled away and frowned, and Grillby wondered why the band aid, of all things, upset them.

After that, he went digging through his cupboards for some treat to give the child. He was certain he had some monster candy around somewhere, finally finding the colorfully wrapped treats in a decorative and slightly dusty bowl atop his refrigerator. Must’ve been from Halloween, he guessed, noticing the little spider-shaped silhouettes on the mostly purple and gold colored foils. Either that, or he’d gotten them from the Tuffet family. Regardless, they were hard candy, which was essentially immortal, right? He ate one himself just to be sure, and unsurprisingly something that was more or less pure sugar was difficult to spoil.

When he gave one to the child, they sniffed it suspiciously before copying him and popping the unwrapped treat into their mouth. Instantly, their eyes widened as if alarmed, and they twisted their head up to look at Grillby in amazement. He raised an eyebrow, and the kid moved it around in their mouth, the hard candy making a very slight clicking noise against the back of their teeth. After several moments, they leaned back in the chair, glancing over to the entire bowl before looking again to Grillby and treating the bartender to a rare little smile.

“You like that, huh?” He asked, and the kid didn’t really respond, but hummed a little happily. Grillby smiled, glad to see them acting contented, before sobering and sitting across from them at the table. He waited for them to finish the small candy, then asked, “Would you like another piece?”

The child stared at him, and Grillby frowned, debating what he was about to say. “Look, kiddo… I know you can understand me. It’s no problem if you don’t want to talk, but can you nod or shake your head for me?”

The kid stiffened, curling up again in their chair. They looked very uncomfortable, magic clearly stirring again as they crossed their arms over their chest and soul protectively, so Grillby dropped the subject, saying, “I guess that’s a no” before offering the kid another candy. They didn’t take it, letting it sit on the table as Grillby put the rest of the bowl back where he found it and left the third message for the guard. When he returned, the child didn’t look up, seeming for all the world preoccupied with picking at the crook of their elbow.

“Kid?” Earned him a diffident glance in his direction. 

“Let’s find something for you to do. Do you like…” Grillby let the question trail into oblivion, “I’ve got some books Fuku used to like, I think. I’ll go check.”

“In the meantime,” he added, using one finger to slide the piece of candy closer to them suggestively, “Wait here.”

And with that, the bartender went to retrieve a few boxes. The door to the basement creaked louder then he remembered, the light at the bottom of the stairwell burnt out, not that that mattered too much for the elemental, though he paused at the bottom to get his bearings. His basement wasn’t a scary one, at least in his own opinion; mostly made of empty space and dull gray concrete walls laced with chucks of stone. 

Built long before it was common to live outside the ruins, the house on top of it was not the original, and the basement had a vaguely militant feel. High ceilings to accommodate large monsters, very little in the way of elegant design, and before the house was put on top of it, only one bottle necked entrance. Not bothering to look around, Grillby followed the side of the stairwell back to the storage area, which unlike the rest of the basement lacked and form of furnishing, including any trace of the patchwork carpeting the rest of the large room was padded with. Sorting through a few boxes, mostly full of useless junk compiled over generations of useless junk drawers, he finally found what he was looking for.

Before he headed up, however, the elemental gave the furnace a cursory glance. He wasn’t great with this sort of thing, but had a sneaking suspicion he knew what the issue was. Opening the hatch and unscrewing the flame sensor with one hand, he patted his pockets for something to use for cleaning with the other and found only a crumpled piece of paper he didn’t remember picking up. It was rough and wrinkled, though, like it had been through the wash, and for all he knew it had been. Regardless, it worked well enough, and he closed the machine up and turned it on, cursing himself a few minutes later as it continued to run smoothly. _That_ really _was_ all he had to do? It was only regretful in retrospect – the cold never bothered him anyway – but now knowing that a child had been left shivering all this time, the simplicity of the repair frustrated the elemental.

He headed up the stairs soon after that, finding the child kneeling nervously on their seat, looking with deep-seated concern at the heat vent. A part of Grillby wanted to laugh at the scene, but that spark was easily extinguished by the much larger portion of him who was in a tense and sour mood.

“Just the furnace, kiddo…” He said with forced ease, putting the box down on the table and causing the child to jump. The candy was gone, and that was a bit of a relief as he went to adjust the thermostat. What was a good kid temperature, anyway? Right now the display read around 50 degrees, so he added 10 to it and hoped for the best.

“Hopefully,” He added, “That’ll make things a bit more comfortable for you. Now, how about we head over to the couch to check some of these books out?”

The kid trailed after him over to the T.V. area, which Grillby choose because it had the best lighting in his household. Flipping the switch on, he sat on the couch and waited for the child to join them, sitting pensively on the far end of the furniture. The books were field guides; not exactly children’s entertainment, but ripe enough with pictures that they could entertain a child for a little while, at least, depending on the kid’s temperament. Selecting one that he thought he remembered as a favorite of Fuku’s, he offered it to the kid, who took it only after some insistence from the bartender.

It made them nervous to hold it, and they didn’t dare to open it until Bartender did it for them, the stained pages crinkling horribly with the movement. It was heavier than they had expected, and they ended up resting it on their femurs and knees instead of holding it properly. Not that it was really that heavy, they just really didn’t want to drop it. Bartender didn’t seem to care, so they let it sit there and stared at the bright, metallic green beetle. There were other beetles in the book, too, but the green one caught their attention because it was very different then the dull, striped things that they’d sometimes find crawling in their food.

The thought made them frown, and they looked at Bartender curiously. He was looking away from them, towards a clock, and they averted their gaze before he could notice. Why did he give them a book? The child looked at it again and felt uncannily watched by the compound eyes looking at them from stained printing. Beside them, Bartender leaned sideways, causing them momentary panic as he reached behind him only to have a little _click-click_ sound as he picked up the phone from its cradle. The kid realized Bartender was still looking at them, and stooped their head before hesitantly looking up to see what he wanted.

The man gave them one of the strange smiles that made them nervous before shifting his own gaze, pointedly, to the book. The kid knew a hint when they saw one, and followed it eagerly. They were supposed to do _something_ with the book, and after several more seconds of staring at the beetles, the child cautiously moved to turn one of the pages. The tearing noise some of the water damaged paper made caused them to flinch, glancing again to Bartender to check his reaction. He was impassive, so they continued, moving many of the stuck-together pages at once. What greeted them on the next page was a surprise, and the kid let a little astonished intake of breath escape them. Pinks and yellows and speckled browns, these clearly weren’t beetles. The child didn’t know what they were, only that they were beautiful, and hunched a little closer to the book to see better, looking from one picture to another in fascination. 

Suddenly self-conscious, the kid straightened their spine and swallowed nervously. They shouldn’t have gotten distracted like that, not when Bartender was obviously trying to get them to do something again. Bracing themselves, they looked up at him for guidance. He was smiling at them, though, and honestly this time. The knowledge that they hadn’t preformed inadequately made the child smile back.

“Glad you like them,” Grillby said, “Fuku was always such a strange child… I wasn’t entirely convinced you would.”

The kid didn’t respond, but went back to the book, at first delicately turning the pages with Grillby firmly in their peripheral vision before falling into a somewhat more casual form of browsing. They even swapped books a few times, at first as his suggestion and eventually of their own accord, beginning to make little reactionary noises at the pages they turned to and flipping around without casting him a sidelong glance. When he thought the child was thoroughly absorbed in a book about birds or bees or something like that - he wasn’t exactly sure anymore, too distracted watching time pass by without the guard contacting him – he stood to make latest call.

Groaning to his mirror-self, Grillby reviewed the messages he’d left in his mind. None of them made him seem particularly competent or put together, but who would be in this situation? Still, he regretted letting his emotions overtake him. It was never a great idea to yell at the guard, purely out of respect if nothing else. When humans fell, they served as civilians’ first line of defense against them… Or, more accurately, cannon fodder. The kid needed real, actual help as soon as possible, but they weren’t exactly in any danger here, not with Grillby taking care of them, and there were any number of perfectly valid excuses why the Royal Canine Unit might not be responding even barring the threat of a human in the underground. A tunnel could’ve collapsed, or something might’ve gone wrong with The CORE, or… He had to stop thinking about this. It was only making him more distressed.

When he stepped into the hallway, his gaze fell immediately to the child standing in the middle of the room. The looked alert and had obviously been listening in on his conversation, startling the elemental. Grillby noticed the child still had a book clutched in one hand as they brought it protectively over their chest, that wide expression of panic settling over their features again as they stepped backward. The bones of their feet normally clattered over the floor, but when their heel snagged on the overlarge leg of the pants Grillby had given them, the normally insignificant noise turned to a terrifying scrape as they stumbled and slid on the fabric. 

The bartender started forward instinctively as soon as they started to fall, but this really didn’t help the flailing child, only causing them to panic further as they tilted backwards, hitting their head hard on the wall behind them. The noise was solid as they collapsed, devastating, and sent a cold thrill of alarm through the bartender.

“ _Fuck_!” he said, now with no regard for who was listening, “Kiddo, _goddamn_ \- Are you okay?”

The kid didn’t answer, but made a noise like a wounded animal before they fell into strangled sobbing. Eyes shut tight, their lack of communication failed to soothe the elemental, and he pulled them somewhat briskly into an upright sitting position to check the back of their skull. It seemed undamaged, but what the hell did he know? Core racing, he tried to get their attention, only to be hit with the intense sensation of their unbridled emotions again. Grillby didn’t have time to dwell on that, though, as he decided simply to scoop the child up to get them off the floor, carrying them swiftly to one of the nearby loveseats. The huddled up tight in the brief seconds they spent in his arms, and remained curled like a dead spider after he put them down, still making noises that weren’t quite whimpers or sobs.

“Easy there, easy-” The elemental soothed, grabbing a shoulder to try to get them to look at him, “You’re fine, I’m not going to hurt you… C’mon, kiddo. You’re good, right? Just a little bump or-”

The kid took in a shuddering breath, opening their eyes to look at him blankly. The small, white pinpricks usually present had disappeared, replaced by a hollowness that made the elemental pull back, even further when a dull colored orange magic filled the black, seeming almost threatening in the way it changed their appearance. Maybe the kid didn’t want comfort – maybe they just wanted space… No, that wasn’t true. They liked contact, or at least they did as a dog, they were just afraid of it, as evidenced by the way they were pushing themselves backwards, into the far corner of the loveseat to stare it him as they continued making half-stifled sniffing noises and high-pitched whines. The book was clutched to their chest again, not burnished like a weapon, but defensive, and Grillby looked at it awkwardly as he avoided the child’s gaze.

He felt guilty for sensing the child’s magic, or maybe more just plain _wrong_ about it. There was a lot of hurt there, more than he felt ready to help with, and on top of that there was a lot of social stigma surrounding reading someone’s magic. It wasn’t taboo, exactly. There were a lot of situations in fact, like this one, where it was unavoidable. But it was considered impolite, particularly regarding children that you weren’t familiar with, similar to invading someone’s personal space. 

Doctors, caretakers, parents, siblings, and friends - they had free range, most of the time, to ignore such boundaries, but he was none of those things. Yet the kid was coming unglued in front of him, and Grillby really didn’t want to just sit there and let that happen, so very gently he offered his own aura of sympathy and attempted comfort. Physically, he reached out and touched the kid’s arm, only to have them nearly instantly clambering towards him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, a small, shaking torso pressed against his own as the child started crying in earnest, and reacting purely as he believed he was meant to as opposed to how he wanted to, the elemental pulled the child into an embrace.

While they sobbed into his neck, Grillby rubbed circles in the child’s back and hushed them, still stiff due to his discomfort with the situation. He never thought he was great with kids – even Fuku scared him a little, and she was a very strange child, as he had said. Blessed with strong opinions at a young age, she had a habit of informing the adults in her life about exactly what she needed, a behavior that Grillby rather missed right about now. On top of that, he actually _knew_ her and her parents, and felt comfortable interacting with each of them, whereas the child he was holding right now was a complete unknown.

He didn’t know who they were or where they came from, only that he was completely inadequate to help them. The people who he thought would be able to weren’t picking up their phone, and to top it all off he had no idea if he was actually ‘helping’ right now or making things worse. The bartender felt exposed right now, uncertain, and to a certain degree, terrified. Despite this, another unexpected emotion sparked within him, one he hadn’t noticed until just now as the child hugged onto him; protectiveness. He wasn’t entirely sure he could do a damn thing for the kid, but at this point he was quite certain that if he _could_ , he _would_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I’m an American who uses Fahrenheit instead of Celsius when it comes to weather temps. Sorry about that – I prefer Celsius most of the time because science, but living in the region I do I’m under the impression that no one would have any idea what I’m talking about. Sorry if this inconveniences anyone – But the temp was ~10-11 degrees C and Grillby set it to ~17. Also, I’m comfortable in a really wide range of temps, so sorry if this seems fucking freezing to anyone else OR really hot because I overcompensated. I’m trying to go with what I would consider “moderately uncomfortable” to “slightly chill” since Grillby isn’t big on the whole heat thing.
> 
> Chapter title is from [A Christmas Story](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fjNqLOorulI), but sadly I couldn’t find a clip of the exact line, so here… [Old Man Furnace Fighter](http://www.redriderleglamps.com/a-chrismas-story-the-old-man-furnace-fighter-t-shirt-charcoal).
> 
> P.S. My dad helped me write this chapter. I was like, “Hey, what’s a stupidly simple thing that would keep a furnace from working but even a moron could fix?” and he was like “Well, cleaning the flame sensor.” And then I asked if he ever fixed that and he said yeah so I took that as proof it was something Grillby could do. Yes, my dad is an HVAC.
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1-8: **Night 0 – Night 5** These chapters make up arc 1, “Bartender and The Beast”. You can find the timeline for it at the end of Chapter 8.  
>  Chapter 9: **Morning 6** After removing the collar and deciding to keep the dog, Grillby wakes the next morning to find a child in the kennel. Since he’s kind of freaking out, he makes the kid breakfast instead of actually confronting the problem. We also get a bit of the kid’s POV. 1695 words.  
>  Chapter 10: **Morning 6**. Grillby considers the possible outcomes of reporting his situation to the royal guard, continues to freak out about how utterly screwed he is and the types of things he’s put this kid through. 1552 words.  
>  Chapter 11: **Afternoon 6**. Grillby calls the guards. Then calls the guards. And calls the guards. SOMETHNG’S FUCKIN’ UP. Or not. Because I like to deceive you. All of you. Also, books, communication, and magic. 4415 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	12. Choosey Dadbys Choose Jif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EMOTIONS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since last chapter’s notes were a bit of a text wall, I wanted to say here that eyeless_artist is doing an audio recording of this over on [here](https://soundcloud.com/eyeless-artist) on Soundcloud! I’m still kinda trippin’ over that, ‘cause like, wut? 0_o
> 
> Really happy, though. Any arty/translation stuff people want to do to my stupid little fics is really cool, so if you want to do something like that, go for it! I’d really like a link, though. :-)
> 
> Agh! Anyway, you folks are the best, and I really appreciate your reading and comments! Thanks!

For several minutes, Grillby just stayed like that on the loveseat, the kiddo clinging progressively tighter to the elemental as their crying failed to subside, instead growing steadily louder and less controlled as time went on. What started as gentle hushing turned to something like pleading on Grillby’s part, as his situation went from somewhat uncomfortable to near torturous. Aside from his aversion to sharing magic with a child he barely knew, his physical body was beginning to suffer as well. For one thing, he simply wasn’t sitting in a position that allowed him to hold the child comfortably, and for another there seemed to be some sharply angled and fairly solid object being driven directly into his stomach, and to top things off, the moisture inherit to biological monsters, particularly those that are crying, did not mix incredibly well with his own physiology. All of this would be tolerable, however, were it not for the surge of unrefined and brutal emotions emanating from the kid.

“ _Pain_ ” was first and foremost when he first made contact with the child, followed by “ _intimidation_ ”. Their old friend “ _fear_ ” was back again, accompanied by the seemingly ever-present “ _bad_ ”, which remained stagnant even as pain and intimidation faded to the background, replaced instead by “ _confusion_ ” and “ _indecision_ ” as the child seemed to realize their position. For a while things had stayed just like that, the kid’s state stable in such a way that Grillby thought they might calm soon, before a proverbial dam broke, flooding them both with so many varieties of hurt it was hard to keep track of.

Whatever meager comfort Grillby had offered was quickly submerged by the maelstrom, the “ _bad_ ” alone deep and dark enough to bury it without a trace. The elemental himself felt almost as if he were suffocating, a sensation only heightened when he noticed his own flames flickering erratically, the mental association between it and poor health triggering an old phobia. 

As panic rose in his chest, the elemental began to push the child away for both their benefits; the last thing the kid needed was him to add his own negativity to theirs, though if he was being entirely truthful, the action was motivated by his own self-interest. He had to get away. When the child wailed and tried to clutch to him tighter, the divide Grillby felt was palpable, but his momentum carried him down a path where he freed himself of the child and stood, flames flaring momentarily as he caught his breath. Quickly, he stumbled to the fan to turn it on, feeling an instant relief as the blades began to turn despite the fact that they hadn’t even started moving air yet.

That done, he turned back to the loveseat, finding the kid collapsed and sniveling on their side, eyes plain and black once more. At the very least, they were quiet now. He wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Within moments of leaving, he was at the child’s side again, though not sitting on the small couch and instead kneeling beside it. While he wanted to calm them, he didn’t want another choking hold like that, and he wasn’t sure if his caution of it was because he wasn’t enough or they were too much.

“Kiddo?” he said, grabbing their shoulder again and using his thumb to rub it perhaps too forcefully, “Are you okay?”

The kid jerked a bit in response to his touch, but little else. Even their magic was near silent now, emotions bottled up and self-contained. Realizing what had happened, the elemental sighed regretfully.

“I’m sorry.”

A long pause, and Grillby drew away. Why was he so good at making life more complicated? And he wasn’t about to make it any easier, either, but the simple fact was that he had to know.

“Can you sit up for me? Please?” The kid rolled to look at him in response.

“I need to check you over for wounds, alright? That… was a pretty nasty fall, kiddo.” The elemental said. They’d hit the floor hard, but that didn’t worry him nearly as much as their head did still. Slowly, the child sat up, and as they did so something shifted from beneath them – the book, the same thing that must’ve dug into Grillby’s paunch earlier.

“Thanks,” He said, “Lean forward for me, alright, kiddo?”

Again, Grillby couldn’t tell a damn thing about the skull, only that the child flinched now when he ran light fingertips over an area of it. They were hurt then, but hopefully not bad… Grillby reached to cradle one of their shoulders in each of his hands, causing the kid to look him in the face before taking a calculated risk as he pressed his sincerity and concern towards them.

“Are you okay?”

They weren’t able to go any more rigid then they already were, so the child averted their eyes, squirming further back into their seat as it and Grillby would allow. When he waited, they whined, high-pitched and dog-like to him, a flurry of emotions coming to him that the elemental simply ignored. After just a few more seconds, the kid struggled again, this time going directly to his hands with their own, trying to pry his grip off of them. For a moment, the bartender held tight until the atrocity of what he was doing struck him, and he simply let go. The kid scrambled back after that, standing on the loveseat and clawing up the back of it, hitting the barrier behind them. Eventually they stopped, half seated and half leaning as they watched the elemental fearfully.

“Kid,” he said, desperation bleeding into his tone, “Please, I need to know you’re going to be alright until the guard gets here…”

The kid whined again, Grillby pulled further away, moving towards one side of the loveseat intentionally so that the child could escape him. He was embarrassed, fucking things up again like that by trapping the kid... And yet, the kid’s expression softened, following his face as he backed away from them with pained confusion. When he stopped and looked at them, they were rubbed their eyes, then straightened, looking at him and blinking before averting their eyes and nodding almost imperceptibly. Grillby couldn’t process it for a moment, didn’t, really, until he finally noticed the sudden undercurrent of inquisitiveness to his otherwise grim mentality. At the moment, that wasn’t his, which meant…

“You _are_ okay?” the elemental said, his tone coming out considerably more cynical then he meant it to and making the child flinch back, the curiosity fading out as they shifted away from him, seeming to consider a leaping escape.

“ _No_ ,” he hurried to correct himself, “no-no-nonono, I didn’t mean to… I… You’re hurt.”

The statements didn’t earn any direct reaction from the kid, but they seemed to calm, settling once again into their perched position.

“Your head’s hurt.” No response, and Grillby stopped to consider a moment.

“Is anything else hurt?”

Another minuscule nod, but it was something, goddamnit, it was something, and Grillby was relieved. Which, in retrospect, he realized might not have been the most reassuring reaction to give the child. Oh, you’re hurt in multiple places? _Thank god_!

“Where?”

The kid shifted, looking at him with a deep set frown before sliding down the back of the chair to sit in it. Their breath was still ragged, and it seemed as though they were about to cry again, gasping shakily as they crossed their arms around their legs. For a moment, they shifted around agitatedly, and then finally settled. The child rubbed at their eyes again, and Grillby wondered if it was to keep tears from falling. Then, clumsily, the child gestured to their elbow, waiting for Grillby to acknowledge with a nod before they moved on to their heel and ankle. After that, they crawled awkwardly onto all fours, shaking, before clumsily trying to gesture to their back, attempting to bend one arm in ways it simply couldn’t in the process. It seemed they were indicating their lower back and their hips, the areas which hit and ground against the floor the hardest. When they sat up again, they stared at the couch cushion below them, and Grillby sighed.

“Okay.” He said, knee-walking forward so that he could check over the child, who drew themselves into a tighter ball as he approached, “Let me see, then, I guess…”

The kid was vacant again when he started to manipulate them, neither struggling and tensing nor doing anything to help as he looked for their reported injuries. The elbow looked sore, or he was imagining it? Because bone was so fucking strange to try to deal with in these situations, and he really didn’t have much experience with bruising in general, at least not of the biological sort… Hell, why was he even bothering to look? Regardless, he moved on gently to take the kid’s shirt off, tossing it away as he did so. The kid made a little unhappy noise at that, but he ignored it, hesitantly pulling himself into the couch so that he could look at their back without forcing them to move. There wasn’t anything he could see wrong with it, but again, that was meaningless, so he ignored the child’s indication of their hips to move directly to the foot. In the end he was left with little more clue than he had before and a still terrified child that flinched away from him at every touch.

“Going to get you a new shirt,” he said, a bit distracted by his own thoughts as he pushed himself up and disappeared briefly into his bedroom. When he came back, the shirt he brought with him was pale blue, something he almost never wore because it has short sleeves and he preferred the added protection of long ones. It saved a step in dressing the child, though, and they seemed fascinated by the color, running little sharp-bone fingertips over the fabric. 

Grillby jumped when they whined, finishing up the last button before asking, “Something wrong, kiddo?”

The look kiddo shot him was painful, and softly implied a certain measure of animosity the elemental didn’t know how to respond to. So, he didn’t, not really at least, reaching forward to cradle the child’s hurt arm. They pulled away at first, and Grillby didn’t blame them, making contact a second time to have them barely respond. Carefully, he summoned magic from his core, channeling and rechanneling it until he thought it was stripped down to its essence, life, and diverting it to his hands. At that the kid _really_ flinched, a waiver of guilt shaking Grillby’s concentration for a moment, causing the flow to taper before he went back to it, cautious until the child at least relaxed their arm, the rest of their body still on high alert.

“Not going to do much for you, kiddo,” he explained with a sigh, “I’ve never really been good at this sort of shit. But if it’s just kind of an inflammation-soreness type of deal, this should help a little. Feel any better?”

The kid didn’t answer, but Grillby didn’t really need them to. The way his magic sank into the bone without protest indicated it was needed and utilized to help heal the child. Fuck, this was tiring, though. He’d forgotten just how much, and by the time the simple would-be-abrasion was healed, the elemental found himself feeling unbelievably drained. It wasn’t just the loss of magic that was affecting him, he was sure, but also the emotional wash out from several hours of constant stress. It made him feel a little disgusted with himself, honestly, because the portion of him that wanted to go still and rest a while was ridiculous. He knew he was better off getting some food, though, and lunch was probably a good idea for the kid, anyway.

“Okay,” he said, wearily, as he tried to rub some of the tired out of his head by massaging his temples, then repeated, “Oh- _kay_ …”

“That’s all I can do for now, kiddo… We’ll try working on your noggin after lunch. In the meantime-” He picked up and shoved the book towards the child, who accepted it with a wrinkled brow and thoroughly befuddled expression, “-here. That’s all I got. Or you could take a nap, I guess.”

God knows I need one, he thought, but did not say, standing and moving over to the kitchen. He took a moment to find a clock, finding himself unwittingly teleported into the future. It shouldn’t actually _be_ that late, should it? The morning had passed like molasses, and he was shocked by how far time had gotten away from him. Not that it was late yet, but this wasn’t really ‘lunch’ anymore by most people’s standards, more of a typical time for him to eat, after the rush had ended and he had a few hours mostly to himself.

He made food on autopilot, barely registering or reacting that the kid had ignored both of his suggestions and chosen instead to watch him while he cooked. Sitting on the floor smack dab in the middle of the kitchen, they really weren’t in his way as he moved along its periphery, struggling to make something vaguely nutritious out of supplies from a kitchen he really didn’t keep stocked. In the end, he kind of gave up, settling for a can of whatever-it-was for the kid and assorted bullshit for himself, plus a plate of peanut butter sandwiches that were cut into quarters for both of them. That was sort of like a meal, wasn’t it?

Nah, it wasn’t, but fuck it. Close enough. The kid really didn’t have standards anyway, and while Grillby felt guilty for taking advantage of that, he was tired enough to find it a relief. 

Putting the plates on the table, he retrieved the child and they ate in silence, the elemental staring blankly off into the distance as he crushed one of the little sandwiches between his hand and the plate before chewing on it numbly. It was a bizarre habit, one he thought he developed back when his food almost always came pre-squished right after (and before) the barrier formed. By the time things got better enough for him to get unbrutalized sandwiches, he found the texture of them almost off-putting, foreign at a time where everything was changing and he was forced to adapt and readapt when all he wanted was to cling to what he knew, even if that wasn’t anything good. So, he squished his own sandwiches. Only for peanut butter, though, and sometimes grilled cheese, but that was more a matter of impatience then preference.

He didn’t even realize he was doing it until the child started mimic him, causing him to laugh unexpectedly when they took a bite of their food only to have it plaster instantly to the roof of their mouth. The face they made was hysterical, particularly under the circumstances of laugh or cry, which Grillby had quite solidly entrenched himself in. They reached up to try to dislodge the food, only to stop and look at their hand, the band aid, and shoot Grillby a truly scathing look of desperation.

“Go ahead,” he chortled, surprised and yet not that they thought back to that incident. 

They did, swallowing quickly and uncomfortably afterwards, the unchewed food causing them obvious discomfort. It was then that Grillby realized he hadn’t given them anything to drink, standing to retrieve a glass of water instantly. They looked grateful when he set it in front of them, but things did not go as smoothly as either of them had expected as the child attempted to use the glass as they had their water dish, their face far too wide to manage it. Grillby came to their aid, lifting and tipping it for them until they got the idea, grabbing the water themselves and draining the glass as the elemental watched.

“More?” he asked, and surprisingly the child nodded almost like a normal child might.

The second glass wasn’t emptied as quickly or completely, set down on the table with just a sip or two still in it, the child huffing slightly as they seemed to have forgotten to breathe while drinking. Their chin was shiny with moisture, both Grillby and the child having both spilled some on them with inexperience, and they tried to wipe it away with their hands before looking at the remains of the sandwich like it was the devil itself.

“Next time,” Grillby said, any humor stripped from his tone, “Don’t smash them. That’s just a dumb thing I do, okay?”

The kid didn’t respond, moving back to their bowl of once-canned whatever without a word. They didn’t so much look at another sandwich, and Grillby didn’t really mind, eating them all himself quite happily. The food did wonders for him, and he almost felt normal by the end of the meal. 

It was a nice little perk of being a fire elemental; you could always regenerate your magic quickly so long as there was something worthwhile around to burn. This wasn’t without its drawbacks, though. For one, while most monsters had at least _some_ physical body to rely on after depleting their magic, the same composition of pure magic that allowed an elemental like Grillby could break something down to energy quickly also meant that they could literally burn themselves out. Additionally, if you made a habit of incinerating things just to subsist, it might become progressively more difficult for you to _not_ to burn whatever object you might be holding, regardless of if you wanted to or not.

Leaning back into his chair, Grillby regarded the child with quiet contemplation. They’d already finished eating, a little bit of… Grillby was going to call it soup, because calling it soup made him feel better, still left in their bowl. They were picking at what remained of the sandwich they’d bitten, and for a while Grillby expected them to nibble on it again. Instead, they started dissecting it, nearly leaping out of their chair when he cleared his throat. Staring at him with wide, startled eyes, they sniffed the air around them again, chucking the food back on the plate again too put their hands on the chair again, bracing themselves against it.

“Sorry,” he said. He hadn’t meant to startle them, just needed to clear his throat while he thought. They _were_ communicating now, at least, but maybe if he asked them something low-pressure and easy he’d get a real response. He wasn’t sure about it, but it seemed like the next logical step right now. What was a good, basic question?

“So, kiddo… what’s your name?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [this commercial that I can’t believe exists](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LOT78zhA5w). Doodle thought of it, because she’s awesome.
> 
> Shit, guys. I’m starting just to backlog chapter titles. Do you know that now I’ve started outlining chapters just because I lined a title idea I had? For instance, how could I NOT write a chapter titled “The Fire Nation Attacked”? Like that’s going to happen. Eventually.
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1-8: **Night 0 – Night 5** These chapters make up arc 1, “Bartender and The Beast”. You can find the timeline for it at the end of Chapter 8.  
>  Chapter 9: **Morning 6** After removing the collar and deciding to keep the dog, Grillby wakes the next morning to find a child in the kennel. Since he’s kind of freaking out, he makes the kid breakfast instead of actually confronting the problem. We also get a bit of the kid’s POV. 1695 words.  
>  Chapter 10: **Morning 6**. Grillby considers the possible outcomes of reporting his situation to the royal guard, continues to freak out about how utterly screwed he is and the types of things he’s put this kid through. 1552 words.  
>  Chapter 11: **Afternoon 6**. Grillby calls the guards. Then calls the guards. And calls the guards. Also, books, communication, and magic. 4415 words.  
>  Chapter 12: **Afternoon 6**. Grillby and the kid almost have a bonding moment, and then the bartender panics and ruins everything. But, fear not! For things actually go pretty damn well after that. Like, the kid’s kind of trying to communicate a bit and that’s a good thing, you know? 3052 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	13. Don’t Worry About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why do I even fill out this section of the thingy? Like I never know what to put in it. Doodle, do you have any thoughts?
> 
> [It’s a good thing to have, I think! Hmm… I don’t really know a good summary blurb off the top of my head, sorry~ :( ]
> 
> I’m going to leave this conversation. How’s that for a summary?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading, all. If you could leave a comment, I’d really dig that, cause me life is… Woosh right now. Lol. Even if you don’t, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> EDIT: OMG, the first time I posted this I accidentally left some of me and Doodle's notes in it... I'm so sorry. If you find anything else I messed up on please tell me! T.T

“No?” Grillby said in confusion as the child shook their head, his mind naturally trying to ignore and make light of the situation, because that is what monsters did to survive in the underground. “Well, that’s a bummer of a name if I ever heard one. Fluffy might be better than that, kiddo.”

The kid continued to shake their head with progressive ferocity, edging on panic when the elemental reached out to them. Again, he offered _calm_ , and they went entirely still, uncontrolled _fear_ still rolling off of them. The kid was anomalous with their emotions, either suppressing them entirely or losing all control of them, and with dull realization that wasn’t so much realization anymore as acceptance, Grillby knew that they had no idea how to channel or properly contain them. He suspected no one ever taught them how, because what they did to remain quiet was like closing a coke bottle after adding a fuck ton of Mentos - an experiment he’d seen once conducted at his bar and fully regretted allowing due to the water burns it earned him and the mess he had to clean up afterwards. Sure, everything seemed fine for a while, or maybe just ominously still as everyone waited anxiously, pressure building up inside until it couldn’t be contained it anymore and everything just came flying out.

He pulled away from the child, still regretting his earlier slip up and trying to atone for it with caution and respect for their space. As soon as he did, they were shaking their head again, _no_ , leading him to another acceptance.

“Do you have a name?” he asked, voice gentle, already knowing the answer.

 _No_ …

“What do you call yourself, then?” 

The question was more to himself then the kid, but they didn’t know that. Abruptly, the child stopped their quivering and stood, backing away from the elemental with quick little shaken steps, watching him uneasily. They retreated across the room, putting the coffee table between them before stopping and sifting nervously from foot to foot, as if debating a further retreat. A glance towards the dog crate again, not spiteful, but yearning caused Grillby’s core to churn. Okay, _fuck_. Could he deal with this? He could deal with this. 

He had no fucking idea how to deal with this.

He certainly wasn’t going to chase the child as he had the dog, but he couldn’t let them hide _in a cage_ , for fuck’s sake, as much as he would like to simply ignore the situation… He checked the time again; whatever the hell the guard was up to they were taking their sweet time with it. Had he seen them yesterday or the day before? He wanted to assume he had, but honestly he wasn’t sure, and now he was growing progressively pessimistic about when help would arrive. Regardless, if he could get the kid to talk, that would make life easier for everyone. They could tell him what they needed right now, maybe tell the guard what… _who_ did this to them.

But that was probably asking too much. He knew that, and would settle for the nonverbal communication he’d gotten if he had to, because that alone was an incredible improvement. Still, they had to have been called something, right? Even if they didn’t have a proper name, he couldn’t keep calling them “kiddo”, could he? Not unless whatever else they recognized as a title was derogatory or abusive, which he was beginning to think might be the case based on the kid’s reaction. But it was possible, just possible, that it was simply the act of speaking that they were responding adversely to.

Grillby stood and walked slowly towards the child, not directly for them, but chair beside the loveseat. They backed off, of course, towards the door and T.V. area, but when Grillby sat down they relaxed a little, lowering their head and whined almost apologetically at him.

“It’s okay,” he tried to placate, “you don’t need to say anything, I was just curious…”

The book was still abandoned on the loveseat, and the bartender picked it up thoughtfully. The dog calmed down when he spoke to it, and it and the child were one and the same. Maybe he should just go back to rambling.

“You want to look at this with me? Seemed to like it earlier. What is it?” He read the cover of the faded green paperback, “ _Insects of the North Woods_ , huh? Where the hell _is_ that? I’m sure it’s on the surface, but… Egh, never mind. It’s a book about bugs.”

He opened it, forcing himself to scan the papers despite his disinterest. “Giant Stonefly… nearly two inches in length… huh. The name seems a little on the nose, doesn’t it. See?”

He turned the book towards the child to display the associated photo of the ugly thing. At first the kid didn’t react at all, so he shook the book slightly, tapping a finger on top of the picture. They just squinted at him and sniffed the air, obviously trying to guess what he was playing at while picking at their elbow joint again. A better idea struck Grillby, and he put the book down on the coffee table.

“Can I work on that head of yours?”

The kid blinked and looked at him, so Grillby rubbed the back of his own head in pantomimed explanation. Their eyes widened in recognition, but they actually took a couple more steps away from him. Scared? He didn’t know, but they paused and looked at their feet for a while. Then, tentatively, they moved around and towards him, sitting on the edge of the sofa just within arm’s reach.

“Alright,” The bartender said, “Okay if I start?”

Nothing. They didn’t even look at him, staring at the floor.

“Kiddo, look at me.” They glanced up, “Is it alright if I get started?”

The child made a sour face, then clicked their teeth together. Bartender… He really wanted them to respond, didn’t he? That wasn’t _good_ , that wasn’t _good_ at all - _that_ was even worse than the things Green Man let them get away with in his green house, actually, but… The kid shivered and looked at the fabric draped over his frame, then to the table, which still had the remains of his last good meal sitting on it. They opened their mouth and closed it before nodding, and Bartender treated them with a thin smile for that.

“Okay, good,” he said as he reached forward, and the kid fixated on that as the monster touched the back of their head, which still pounded uncomfortably. 

They wanted to flinch back, because even the gentle contact hurt worse, but managed not to through practiced denial of instinct. _Good_ … After a second, a heat started, not exactly hotter but somehow more intense than Bartender’s skin seeping into their bone. It was soothing, nice, and for a moment they let themselves close their eyes, focusing on that physical comfort. Eventually the warmth started to fade, the monster pulling back, pulling away despite the still unhealed damage, and opening their eyes, the kid swiveled to look at Bartender. He seemed distracted, his expression neutral and distant, but not busy-distracted, so while he still was piping just a thread of his own magic into them, they forced themselves to speak. 

The magic cut off completely, like a light switch.

“What?”

They shouldn’t have they shouldn’t have they shouldn’t have they were-

“What did you say?”

-bad bad bad bad _bad_ -

“Kiddo?”

Their shoulders were grabbed again - _panic, concern_ \- foreign magic washing over their own. _Calm_ it demanded, but they rejected it, because of _regret_ , because of the _bad_ coursing through them. In response they found _resolve_ that the kid didn’t understand, but Bartender was pulling them forward before they could think about it, and then they were wrapped in his arms like before, but the monster’s magic was suddenly gone, no longer touching them at all. They could still sense it, vaguely, in a way that they recognized. If they tried to reach out, would Bartender snap at them? It didn’t matter, they wouldn’t reach out, they didn’t want it, it confused them, but why was it taken away in the first place? It had been inescapable before…

“Shh, shush-shush-shush… You’re okay.”

Huh?

“You’re okay, I’m okay, the world’s okay. How about that? That’s pretty neat…”

Bartender kept speaking, but the child couldn’t pay attention, even though they weren’t moving and very little was happening. They were just being held by the larger monster, who was rubbing their back again trying to… Trying to soothe them, the same way as earlier, only their back was still sore so the motion hurt a bit. It all hurt a bit, really, like they were crumbling on the inside, tremors shaking through their chest so that they started hiccupping no matter how hard they tried to suppress it. Too much _new_ , too much _confusion_ , and they didn’t want to cry again; crying was _bad_ , and they wanted, they _needed_ to be good. They were lucky they got away with it last time, Bartender obviously didn’t like it when they cried. Was that the reason they were being treated like this? So they wouldn’t cry?

It didn’t matter, it was working. They wanted it to work, because feeling like this all the time… It was worse than being left alone with the others. It was worse than being left alone-alone, in the little kennel, knowing they’d been _bad_ and wouldn’t get food that night and not knowing when they’d be good enough to sleep in the normal place again. They closed their eyes tightly, trying to hold back the tears, the noise, the energy, because all of it was _bad_.

“Kiddo… C’mon. I’m running out of things to say here.” Bartender’s tone was strained, warped in a way the child had never heard before from anyone, “You don’t really want what’s gonna happen next like this, trust me…”

Happen next? What would happen next? The statement ruined the small ease that the monster’s hold had been providing, making the warm if stiff embrace go from strangely comforting in a foreign way to imprisoning and claustrophobic around them. The tears got harder to hold back, the noises aching in their chest harder to silence, and the kid’s head started to hurt from the exertion. They were too tired to panic, instead their mind just racing in circles, thoughts jumbling incoherently. How did they stop? Could they get away? Go back to the kennel?

No, they couldn’t… But the kennel sounded good right now. Small and rigid and predictable, it seemed like if they were in there they couldn’t make things worse. They weren’t safe there – the monsters would always be able to reach them – but it was harder to be bad. They could bury themselves in a corner and try to sleep. Sleep made everything easier. It got boring and sometimes it was impossible, but if they slept then they could forget about the _bad_ for a while and wake up and try to be _good_ again.

Bartender shifted his grip on them, pulling them up and closer to his chest. Everything was warm, which would’ve been nice if they weren’t terrified. What was he doing? The arm that had been moving to rub their back shifted, drawing tighter as one of his hands engulfed their shoulder with its heat. The other wrapped around their midsection, hand coiling into a loose fist as it settling against their side. The child flinched when he shifted forward, rocking gently and clearing his throat.

“Okay, kiddo… Fucking can’t believe I’m doing this.” He murmured, his voice quiet and throaty before he hemmed again, humming briefly before-

_“Hush now child, hush you must,_  
_And let yourself be still,_  
_Give me just your ears and trust,_  
_And stop your cries so shrill.”_

The child froze, immobilized with confusion and conflicting instincts. Even their breathing caught a moment, stunned by the vibration reverberating through the monster’s chest and into their bones. They didn’t understand what was happening, at first trying to interpret the words within the context of their situation but failing after the first verse. Bartender’s tone of voice was odd, too, something they’d never heard before, rolling over and through them in an agreeable manner. 

_“The battle is so far away,_  
_The wind, to here, it blows,_  
_Carrying our fallen friends,_  
_To these valleys low..._

_Fear not for you'll never be,_  
_Unwanted or alone,_  
_I promise that you’re safe with me,_  
_On this journey for a new home.”_

Despite themselves, the kid had relaxed in Bartender’s grasp, listening intently to what he was saying and the way he was saying it. Was this what he warned them about? It still didn’t make any sense, but that didn’t seem to matter right now. It was nice. They shifted a little, tentatively, trying to get more comfortable without disrupting Bartender.

_“The mountain tall and wide will save,_  
_What few of us remain,_  
_And you living long and well,_  
_Will mean no loss was in vain._

_For we have a mighty king,_  
_And queen, so fierce and proud,_  
_They will bring salvation,_  
_Despite this sorrow's shroud…”_

About halfway through the song, Bartender had stopped rocking, repositioning himself to lean solidly against the back of the chair. He didn’t move after he finished, one hand having migrated to the crest of the child’s head where his thumb moved back and forth, massaging their skull. The kid was quiet on top of him, their only sign of movement the small twitches and grinding noises of them chewing on their own knuckles again. 

They wouldn’t have moved if he hadn’t sighed, but he did, big and loud and long, prompting them to stiffen for a second before carefully pushing themselves up to look Bartender in the face. He met their eye easily, corners of his mouth twitching downward as he caught sight of the hand they had in their mouth which was quickly removed with a worried little frown and a diverting of their gaze to something else. He wasn’t holding them really, lower arm sliding off of them when they moved and the one that had been cradling their head moved to the armrest, only the hand still touching them, resting gently on one shoulder. They shifted, then looked at him again for a while before leaning forward again, pressing their forehead against his shoulder. Warm arms encircled them again and there was silence, not a sound in the house except for the sounds of the furnace turning off and on as time passed.

“Kiddo,” Bartender said a while later, breaking the silence with the simple statement, “You awake?”

The child groaned, not particularly taken with the idea of moving, but also unwilling not to respond. The monster, evidently, did not share their sentiment, patting their back a few times before gripping them under the arms and lifting them into a sitting position. He looked tired, they realized, and were cautiously grateful, because if he went to bed then they would too, and sleep sounded wonderful right now.

“Don’t-” The monster stopped himself, mouth going tight and eyebrows knotting before he pushed himself higher in the chair, shifting the kid’s position with him.

“Don’t freak out, okay? Nothing’s going to happen, everything’s fine no matter how you answer, okay? You don’t even have to answer if you don’t want to… But earlier, you tried to tell me something, right?”

The kid frowned, considered shaking his head. Could they do that? What if Bartender found out? They didn’t want to risk it, so they nodded once, quickly.

“Okay…” Bartender trailed off, seemingly deep in thought. “Well, that’s good… Thank you for trying. Do you think you could maybe try again?”

The child blinked. Good? _Good?_ As soon as the word registered they were nodding vigorously, only stopping at the Bartender’s startled expression. Had they messed up already? It was time to listen, after all. What did he want? He didn’t say anything for the longest time, expression growing increasingly contorted with concern. Finally, he broke his silence.

“Well… what did you want to say?”

Oh! The kid opened their mouth to start speaking, only to snap their jaws shut a second later. Last time they hadn’t spoken right, what if they didn’t again? What if they messed up? What would happen then? They swallowed nervously, watching the monster’s reactions before finally trying to speak.

“Brah-” Their voice was wrong, high-pitched and squeaky. Not what they wanted, not what they wanted at all, so they stopped, quickly trying to readjust. Bartender wasn’t really doing anything, but that could change, and they wanted to do what he wanted right now. They wanted to be good.

“Bro-Bro-ther,” They said, cringing back and waiting for a response.

“Brother?” Grillby asked. The child nodded. “That’s all?”

Another nod.

“Oh,” he said. Brother? Why brother? It didn’t matter; the boy was speaking and that was all he cared about. He wanted to reward them somehow but didn’t know how, so he forced a smile and stood, leaving the child in the chair.

“Thank you,” he said before leaving, “I’ll be right back.”

A moment later he brought the kid a candy, which he stared at for a moment when Grillby offered it to him. When he finally took it, it was with a giddy satisfaction the elemental didn’t understand. The boy looked delighted, over-the-moon, just-got-a-pony happy, and the bartender waited for him to finish eating before asking anything more questions, considering the one word statement carefully. Brother? _Just_ brother, nothing else?

“Are you willing to say more?” He asked, once the kid was done with the treat. The child nodded again, beaming at him in a way that somehow didn’t sit right and made him feel a little anxious. 

“Good,” He said, and the kid squirmed in the chair, still smiling wide and bright. It made Grillby feel bad, especially since the last time he’d asked about these things the boy had not reacted well. 

“You really don’t have a name?”

The child abruptly went still, expression going somewhat sterner but still gleeful. He shook his head.

“What, uh… What do you call yourself if you don’t have a name?”

The kid squinted at him, smile not vanishing but fading dramatically.

“Brother,” He said, voice now clear but with a distinct accent Grillby couldn’t place.

“Brother?” The elemental asked, and the kid nodded, resolutely. Finally, it clicked.

“Your name… is Brother.”

Another nod, hesitant this time, as though the child were admitting to taking one too many pieces from a bowl of candy. Grillby got a sinking feeling in his stomach again. If this boy was named Brother, then didn’t that imply there were more? If this boy was named Brother, who named them?

“Okay… Brother. How, um… How are you doing?”

The kid squinted at him, smile finally fading into oblivion. He shook his head no, leaving the elemental very, very confused. What could Grillby do with that besides move on?

“Can I… What can I do for you? If there anything I can get you or anything you want?”

The kid’s eyes lit up, and Grillby expected to be asked for another piece of candy. Instead, the child grabbed hold of his hand, tugging it up and towards him until he could press it against their forehead. What? The kid was still tumbling, grabbing his fingers to straighten them before forcing his hand over their skull.

Right.

Petting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a reference to [River Person](http://undertale.wikia.com/wiki/River_Person), you goof!
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1-8: **Night 0 – Night 5** These chapters make up arc 1, “Bartender and The Beast”. You can find the timeline for it at the end of Chapter 8.  
>  Chapter 9: **Morning 6** After removing the collar and deciding to keep the dog, Grillby wakes the next morning to find a child in the kennel. Since he’s kind of freaking out, he makes the kid breakfast instead of actually confronting the problem. We also get a bit of the kid’s POV. 1695 words.  
>  Chapter 10: **Morning 6**. Grillby considers the possible outcomes of reporting his situation to the royal guard, continues to freak out about how utterly screwed he is and the types of things he’s put this kid through. 1552 words.  
>  Chapter 11: **Afternoon 6**. Grillby calls the guards. Then calls the guards. And calls the guards. Also, books, communication, and magic. 4415 words.  
>  Chapter 12: **Afternoon 6**. Grillby and the kid almost have a bonding moment, and then the bartender panics and ruins everything. But, fear not! For things actually go pretty damn well after that. Like, the kid’s kind of trying to communicate a bit and that’s a good thing, you know? 3052 words.  
>  Chapter 13: **Evening 6**. The child speaks! Also, song. ???? words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	14. That Was Like The Beast Dying At The End Of A Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a cameo appearance of ghosts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Brother is currently swapping between “he/his” and “they/their”. We’ll get to that later. Maybe. Depending on things and stuff because wow life what is that.
> 
> On that note, JESUS LIFE IS COMING AT ME RIGHT NOW so don't be surprised if within and for the next couple weeks the update schedule goes to trash.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comment if you can. Like seriously, sometimes your comments are the best thing in my day. :-)

The kid looked pretty peaceful, considering all they’d been through. Curled up in the fetal position beside him, Grillby continued to stroke their skull gently with the back of his fingers. It made him sick, but not exactly because of anything he or the child was doing, is was just that… _this_ was what kiddo wanted. Not a hug. Not a cuddle on the couch with a damn book. To be pet. Like an animal. And they didn’t even say it, just dragged his hand over and looked up at him not expectantly, but _excitedly_ , with the same expression a Labrador gets when you get the treats out. That was what made him feel odd with the candy, too, he realized. The kid was behaving like a treat-trained animal, only even more so… Normally treat-trained pets didn’t cringe back when you tried to touch them.

The boy’s magic leaked when they slept, and emotions, dulled and quiet with Brother’s unconsciousness, brushed up the length of Grillby’s arm, reminding him of how he’d found the child. Desperation; that was what had gotten his attention in the alleyway a week ago. Pure, blind desperation, brought from a will to live despite the circumstances and something strange and almost terrifying and un-monster-like beneath that.

The elemental swallowed and let his eyes close for a while. What time was it now? He couldn’t see a clock from where he was and wasn’t going to get up just to check, not yet at least. He could use that nap again, not that he would take it. Still, two healings in one day? Under these circumstances? He was almost impressed with himself, even if kiddo’s head wasn’t entirely fixed. Normally about the best he was good for was to help ease a headache or an old timer’s arthritis…

Time slipped by, and Grillby started, absolutely certain he hadn’t fallen asleep. Had he? No, it was impossible to fall asleep on the loveseats, they were so uncomfortable, not unless you were small enough to curl up in one. He blinked, disoriented, and looked over to Brother, whose magic had gone the still, emotionless presence of deep sleep and sighed. That was good, the kiddo deserved some quality rest, and he debated moving them to a bed before deciding the chances of them waking up were too high. Instead, he reached over and yanked the blanket off the chair next to him, delicately tucking the boy in before standing, grunting as the magic rushed back to his legs.

Oof. When did he get old? Grillby’s mouth quirked at the internal joke. Elemental’s didn’t get “old”, they just accumulated years like dust until something happened and they either got themselves killed or faded away. A being summoned of pure will and magic, it was entirely possible for an elemental to simply stop if their will to hold themselves together exhausted, something that had happened too much since the barrier formed. 

Not just elementals either, but all monsters, though it was rarer for those with biological forms. Still, it seemed like everyone was falling these days, particularly those who didn’t have much in the way of hope to begin with, but that wasn’t the only indicator of monster kind’s ill fate. Reproduction was at an all-time low, the population slowly dwindling as the combined factors neared their kind towards extinction… which made it even more horrific that someone would treat a kid like _this_. Children were always cherished, but now they were more sacred than ever. It seemed impossible that anyone with so much as a shred of kindness, integrity, or justice would let this happen.

Speaking of justice, he thought he might call the guards again. Sure, he’d left messages, but maybe their machine was out or the phone itself. It was possible – tech and water didn’t exactly mix well, and repairs were often spotty at best. Even the electricity was spotty, because no matter how much of a genius the royal scientist might be, even he was unable to prevent the regular blackouts that plagued many sections of the underground, mostly due to faulty wiring, power surges, and a simple lack of both material and monsters capable of doing the work necessary. Still, the fact that more then 70% of the underground reliably had power seemed like a miracle, something Grillby was grateful for as he picked up the phone and dialed. Power didn’t even have to be rationed anymore, aside from some very reasonable upper usage limits, The CORE providing an excess of energy that ended up converted into light and the intense heat of Hotland.

“Hey, this is Grillby again,” The bartender started, turning to look at the clock. “It’s about… Oh, 5:30 right now. Kiddo’s taking a nap. I actually got them to speak a little – not much, but still… We know they can now. That’s good, right? He said his name is “Brother”, which is a little weird, but, well, shit, what even is weird at this rate?”

“I’m not sure I should be calling repeatedly like this, but I don’t know what else to do. I mean, do I call the capitol at this point? That’s only supposed to be for big, like, um Help-I-spotted-a-human-covered-in-dust, The-CORE-is-exploding type emergencies, right?” He sighed into the receiver, then, “I don’t know… Might call ‘em anyway, assuming I don’t hear from you in the next couple days. For now, I think me and the kid are good, so I can feed them and give them a place to sleep, shit like that, but _fuck_ … If you’re listening to this, please hurry up, because-”

_BEEP._

Grillby flinched, the noise was sharp and sudden in his ear, the sound of the answering machine cutting him off. He considered re-recording the message, but didn’t have the patience, putting the phone back in its cradle. Looking across the room, he could see the kid was still asleep, and considered what he could do before settling into restless pacing. He wasn’t sure if the motion helped him think or helped him not think, but he continued it, reviewing simple, obvious facts in his mind.

Brother. The kid’s name was Brother, and they were young. Not real young, but young enough that it was obvious just by looking at them that they were immature. When he found them, they looked like an animal, and behaved close enough to one that he didn’t dwell on the possibilities at the moment, though in retrospect…

_“What, are you actually listening to me?”_

The elemental shivered. What the hell else had he said to the kid? He’d lost patience with _the animal_ a couple times he could remember, done things he’d never do to a child, like the way he’d removed the collar, pinning the kid down like that. And _Fuck_ , the harness and lead, kiddo chewing nylon, trying to get away from him. It was a fucking horror show in his imagination, turning those sharp, canine features into those of the kid he’d barely gotten to speak.

No wonder the kid was wary of him. Not only had he yelled at the child, restrained them, he’d even _ordered_ them to do things, to sit, to stay, to… Grillby’s eye’s widened, fully grasping the implication of the commands. Their obedience was sporadic, sure, but long standing - the kid reacted without thinking about it, like a goddamn machine. _He_ hadn’t trained them to do that; not in a week. Someone had trained _their own child_. Someone had _wanted_ their kid to behave like an animal. And it worked, for the most part. 

What happened so that he could find the boy? He couldn’t imagine a monster like _that_ abandoning their “pet”, not when it could so easily get them a lifetime of not only being trapped in the underground, but locked up in-

Grillby stopped pacing and rubbed the back of his neck. The underground… it didn’t really have a jail, did it? Monsters didn’t _do_ that sort of thing real often. There were accidental deaths right after the barrier formed, all sorts of them, caused by panic and fear and incompatible physiologies, but nothing intentional. Assault for many of the same reasons, and a few events caused by those broken by the war, but since things had settled in the underground, most criminal activity was based on burglary and theft, and that was usually out of need. The majority of the time, monsters who got caught sealing were forced to return the items and then got put in a rehabilitation program that included long-term aid. Other then that, there were still occasional physical altercations, but nothing that demanded any long-term imprisonment. When they caught who did this, what would happen to them?

Grillby blinked and swallowed, glancing over to the kid again before wandering, almost in a daze, to the kitchen. What _would_ happen? What _had_ happened? He hadn’t given real thought to it before - he hadn’t had time - but it was becoming abundantly clear that whoever did this to Brother hadn’t just released him afterward. No, the kid had to have escaped, and if that was the case then was there a monster out there searching for them? And he since was having trouble contacting the guard, what if this mystery criminal came knocking on his door? It seemed entirely possible – he’d spread word all across Snowdin about the strange creature he’d found looking for an owner.

The bartender was not, by nature, a violent man. And yet his flames flared as the thought occurred to him, hands tightening on nothing, balling into fists, and he found himself in a very dark place. Would he – could he…?

Attacking someone _like that_ didn’t even seem like a real question. Not if it was necessary to protect himself or the kiddo, in that situation he’d bring whoever did this to their knees without a second thought. What bothered him was if he would stop there. What bothered him is what he would do if it _wasn’t_ necessary.

_Click-click…_

The muffled sound drew Grillby’s attention immediately, and he turned to find the child awake and watching him. Standing just behind the corner of the stairwell, Grillby could only really see the upper portion of their body, leaning forward to look at him. They looked scared, hunched over like that, arms bent a little forward as if ready to catch themselves should they fall. Taking a little step back, they whined at him curiously, which he tried not to frown at, shaking himself and rubbing too-hot palms over his face as he forced himself cool and calm.

“What’s up, Kiddo?” He asked, taking a step towards the counter to get a better look at the child only to have the them retreat back to the loveseat, hopping on top of it to watch him somewhat less wearily. Grillby followed, not all the way to the chair, but into the living room to stand beneath the ceiling fan and ask, “Brother?”

The kid flinched at his own name, looking up sharply and gathering the blanket up beneath them, nesting themselves in it. They didn’t answer, and Grillby gave a little discouraged grunt, moving to the chair beside the loveseat. He sat, crossed his legs stiffly and watched the child for a while as they resettled, hoping they would work up the courage to say something. When they didn’t, just continuing to stare at him silent and owl-like, he went back to pacing, nervous energy winning against exhaustion. He stopped when he noticed the clicking noises following him, the child pacing after him a few steps back. When they realize he saw them, the boy hung his head, but didn’t retreat this time, standing listlessly in the corridor.

“What can I do you for, kid?” He asked, “Need something?”

Brother stiffed nervously, then scoff-sneezed liked an animal, shaking their head back and forth as if to clear it before reaching up and rubbing their eyes. They looked tired, overly so, and Grillby frowned, wondering if he should tuck then right into bed. He took a step to check on them, maybe offer to get a bed ready, but the kid backed away, giving the elemental a sinking sense of deja vu.

Okay, so, he’d done _something_ to scare the kiddo again. No big deal, right? He’d done that a lot. It was _crushing_ to realize, but really, it wasn’t anything new. This situation was crushing. He was crushed. What was important right now was to look at the not-crushing aspects of it. They weren’t even crying this time, just a little cautious, so if he could distract them for a while everything would probably be hunky-dory within the hour. And what, he thought, struck by inspiration, could be a better distraction then the television?

Sitting on the couch, he gestured for the kid to come over. They didn’t immediately, but he didn’t rush them, waiting for them to wander over cautiously before turning it on. The volume was low, but that didn’t keep it from startling the child at it clicked on. The kid jumped nearly a foot in the air as they turned to face the screen, backing up so quickly they came close to falling onto the couch when their legs hit against it. They managed to steady themselves, just barely, then after a quick, wide-eyed evaluation dropped to the floor and onto all fours. They were still humanoid, not transforming as Grillby had momentarily thought they might, but stood on their hands and knees as they shifted forward to look at the screen. The scene changed, and they flinched back, then _buffed_ at it. Twice. Uncertain, they sank to their stomach, watching the screen from the awkward position before whining and looking at Grillby.

“Just a television, kiddo.”

They looked back at it, pushing themselves up and moving away until their back was against the couch again. Under their breath, in a way Grillby was almost certain he wasn’t meant to hear, they said, “Tell… Vision…”

“Television,” Grillby repeated, not directing the word towards them, necessarily. The kid whined, and when he looked back at them again, their arms were wrapped around their legs. Not exactly what he had planned.

“Do you want to pick the channel?”

The boy shook his head, not even looking at Grillby. The way they were watching the screen perplexed him, a look of puzzlement and tentative distress, like they knew what the television was but expected something awful to be on it (Though in Grillby’s opinion, something awful was on it, but he’d never been a fan of _Dirty Work_ , even if it was one of the most popular shows on the Uncovery Channel). For a moment, he let it sit, listening to the overly charismatic intro.

…on Dirty Work we’ll be exploring the dirty little details of the Capitol Aquarium’s waste removal process. Then, we’re going to learn the slimy truth about out national animal, the snail as we delve deeper into the...

“You sure, kiddo? It’s really easy.” The kid’s eyes were still fixed on the screen, having passed from distressed to a distant, hypnotic neutral. Grillby dropped down to the floor and moved beside the kid, clearing his throat to get their attention. When that failed, he reached out, unsurprised when Brother flinched at the contact.

“Brother,” he asked, “Should I turn this off?”

The boy shook his head instantly, leaving Grillby stuck and uncertain what to do. So, he showed the remote to the kid anyway, pressing a few buttons to illustrate their action before handing it over to the child. Brother just held it like a dead fish for a long while, but as soon as he started pressing buttons he pressed all the buttons, until the sound was blaring and some representative of the Rock Have Feelings Too campaign was yelling at them. A little panic had grown in the child’s eyes, and Grillby took the remote from him briefly to at least get out of the T.V. guide and reduce the volume. After that, Brother acted a bit more strategically, eventually stopping when they were back to all the original settings, including, to Grillby’s dismay, _Dirty Work_. It didn’t really surprise him, the underground had a total of thirteen channels to choose from, three of which were news and two theological, and of the remaining eight entertainment based ones and Uncovery was one of the better ones, but still…

“You like this?” Grillby asked, keeping the judgement out of his voice because, hey, if it made the kid happy… Brother looked at him and blinked, blinked again, then turned back to the screen. _Alright_ , not the reaction Grillby had expected, but he’d take it. The kid seemed to have relaxed and had entertainment, and that meant he was free to wander the house as he deemed fit.

Or so he thought. As soon as he started moving, the kid was watching him again, and when it became obvious he was pacing they stood as though to follow him. He was going to talk to them about it, but when he stopped to, the look they gave him was sad and concerned, and in the end he decided it was just easier to sit down and try to relax. It wasn’t so bad, really, once he’d gotten the child to sit on the couch with him, didn’t make him feel quite so awkward about it. Still, he wanted to be moving, so his foot drummed up and down against the floor at his leg twitched anxiously, trying to focus in the show.

 _“Oh…”_ Said a little ghost with headphones, their voice quiet and unenthused as the microphone was crammed into their face, _“You don’t want to talk to me… Sorry, I’m just-”_

 _“Yes we do!”_ Interrupted the television host, _“We traveled all the way out here just to talk to the little ghost who worked on a snail farm. Your letter sounded so enthusiastic about the possibility of being on out show, we just knew we had to meet you!”_

 _“Oh… A letter?”_ Grillby wondered how old they could be. They looked young, too young to be working. Did ghosts age? Or were they like elementals? “That wasn’t from me…”

_“Then who was it from?”_

_“Hello, darlings!”_

Grillby blinked. He never really “got” reality television. Seemed like everyone was vying for their 15 minutes of fame these days. He wondered if it had something to do with the fact that a lot of monsters, himself included, already felt a bit forgotten in the underground. He’d already resigned himself to it and was trying to live as good a life he could while it lasted, but others… He almost wanted to say they weren’t as lucky.

Still, Brother seemed absorbed by the show even if he wasn’t really contented by it, and Grillby pondered how much of it he really understood. The kid seemed sharp enough, he thought, certainly adaptable… But at the end of the day that didn’t change the fact that they’d lived an incredibly deprived life. He wondered what kind of toll it had taken on their development.

“Hey, Brother,” He said, at a particularly uninteresting section, “Can you say something to me, please?”

The kid turned and narrowed his eyes at him, then, in that odd accent, “Something to me, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [NOT SAFE FOR ANYONE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXcug7RqPgs).
> 
>  **Timeline:**  
>  Prestory:  
> At some point previously, Grillby had a dog.  
> Chapter 1-8: **Night 0 – Night 5** These chapters make up arc 1, “Bartender and The Beast”. You can find the timeline for it at the end of Chapter 8.  
>  Chapter 9: **Morning 6** After removing the collar and deciding to keep the dog, Grillby wakes the next morning to find a child in the kennel. Since he’s kind of freaking out, he makes the kid breakfast instead of actually confronting the problem. We also get a bit of the kid’s POV. 1695 words.  
>  Chapter 10: **Morning 6**. Grillby considers the possible outcomes of reporting his situation to the royal guard, continues to freak out about how utterly screwed he is and the types of things he’s put this kid through. 1552 words.  
>  Chapter 11: **Afternoon 6**. Grillby calls the guards. Then calls the guards. And calls the guards. Also, books, communication, and magic. 4415 words.  
>  Chapter 12: **Afternoon 6**. Grillby and the kid almost have a bonding moment, and then the bartender panics and ruins everything. But, fear not! For things actually go pretty damn well after that. Like, the kid’s kind of trying to communicate a bit and that’s a good thing, you know? 3052 words.  
>  Chapter 13: **Evening 6**. The child speaks! Also, song. 3271 words.  
>  Chapter 14: **Evening 6 – Night 6**. Grillby does a lot of introspection and he and the kid watch TV. 3230 words.  
>  **Other Thingies:**  
> [Grillby’s House](http://oi67.tinypic.com/11b7y88.jpg)


	15. Your Fear is Overwhelming, No?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> UM.  
> THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO GEORGE.  
> AND JOKES ONLY 2 PEOPLE WILL UNDERSTAND.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,  
> Wasn’t originally going to post this, because it means that next chapter will have to cover a LOT or material very quickly, but… Today is Undertale’s anniversary, so I couldn’t NOT post SOMETHING, you know?  
> Sorry this is going slow. School’s hit me like a ton of bricks, and also I’m trying to start T[he]y up again! Plus, I’m currently having tons of ideas for WAY in the future chapters of this. And writing them. Because I have no impulse control.  
> On the upside, I’m on new meds and they’re making my life a ton better, so even though I’m a bit overwhelmed right now, I no longer simply ignore my life and hate myself, and instead continue to be a productive person! YAY!  
> Thanks for reading – I’ll get the next chapter done ASAP! :3

Grillby’s restlessness from earlier had long since faded, replaced entirely with a longing for sleep. Brother had already succumbed, slumped over on the carpet with a blanket draped over him, a few fingers still in his maw from when he had been mouthing them earlier. The flickering light of the television reflected off the plate next to them, obscured partially by the remains of dinner. Grillby sighed, leaning over on the couch to see the clock until he toppled sideways. Huh. Eleven forty-two. There really wasn’t any point in hoping the guard would call or show up at this point, was there? Still, he just kind of laid on the couch for a while, numbly watching a rerun of a show he hated and hoping the phone would ring. It was a little later than half past midnight when he finally conceded to himself that it wouldn’t and pushed himself up, snagging the abandoned dishes and taking them to the kitchen before heading to fix up the guest bedroom.

Unfortunately for the elemental, as soon as he opened the door to the bedroom, he was hit with the immediate scent of mold and decay. Before even stepping into the room, he paused, closing his eyes and giving a pained moan before hitting his head repeatedly against the doorway. He’d forgotten. How the _hell_ had he forgotten? Then, with a weary frustration, he flipped the light on and headed in.

 _Fuck_ it was worse than he thought, water clearly dripping from a now massive damp spot on the ceiling and directly into the bed. He had known he had a roof leak, but it seemed almost insignificantly minor, something that only caused a slight dampness to a small area… Until he fixed the heat. Then the snow on the roof started melting, of course, and in twelve hours caused enough damage to keep him busy for several nights after work. It wasn’t exactly like he could turn the heat off, either, not with Kiddo around… Might as well limit the damage as much as possible. Later, though. Tomorrow. After he and the kid had gotten some rest.

Closing the door, the elemental shook out his own bed. He’d only replaced the sheets a couple days ago, and he was made of fire, so it was probably clean enough for the child. Snagging his favorite pillow and one of the blankets, he carried them over to the living room, tossing the items onto the couch without much more than a cursory glance. Then, he stooped to wake Brother.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said softly when the kid’s eyelids fluttered, “Time for bed, okay?”

Brother made a small indistinct noise, pulling the blanket around them tighter. They didn’t really seem awake, and Grillby huffed before bundling them up and carrying them to his bedroom. In his arms, they became fully alert and anxious, but the elemental didn’t really notice until he put them down on the bed.

“Oh,” the bartender said when he saw the wide white irises peering at him, “I didn’t think you’d like to sleep on the floor all night; I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The kid was sniffing the air as he often did, glancing around the room. The elemental followed his gaze, confused, then he sighed and rubbed his palm against his forehead.

“Right,” He said, sitting down at the foot of his bed, “This is my bedroom. Not really much in here, just a few storage containers and a dresser, a couple of bookshelves. That’s the closet over there, um… Yeah. Point is there is a bed here for you, alright? Now you seem exhausted kiddo, so get some rest. I’ll be over on the couch if you need me.”

Throughout this monologue, Brother seemed to listen to him intently. At the end, Grillby wasn’t sure what to make of it, because after what happened in front of the couch he still wasn’t sure how much the boy understood. He kept himself from frowning at the impassive child, figuring that it was kind of hard to mess up sleeping, and headed for the door.

“Goodnight,” he said, before turning off the light. He lingered at the door a moment, waiting and watching the small, dark form wrapped in blankets. The child’s eye lights were luminous in the shadow, though only faintly, the sort of thing one’s mind might ignore unless searching for them. They vanished occasional, when Brother blinked, and eventually Grillby backed into the hallway, yawning before he wandered to the living room to rest.

The elemental had just settled himself when he heard an uneasy _click-clack_ against the floor. He knew what it was without looking, and sighed low and long before forcing himself to move. Grillby’s light didn’t cast very far, so it was hard to see more then the shadow of a child, standing listless at the mouth of the hallway, only the pips of their eye lights cutting through the night. He approached them steadily, stopping several feet away at the corner of the stairwell and leaned against it before speaking.

“What do you need, kiddo?” he asked, and the only response he got was the gentle clatter of bone against wood as Brother shifted their weight. Grillby closed his eyes and breathed deeply… God he was tired. He was used to running on close to no sleep due to his job, but that just meant he had close to no reserves of energy when he was kept up past his normal bedtime. Sleep deprivation was part of his lifestyle; that didn’t mean he liked it.

“Come’ere,” He sighed after a moment, moving to one of the loveseats and patting the seat next to him, “Let’s talk this through.”

Brother came over and sat on the edge of the cushion, balanced so that their feet still touched the ground as they watched the bartender. Grillby himself had collapsed into the chair, head rolling back for a moment as he tried to work a crick from his neck with the minimal effort necessary before meeting the child’s gaze. They still had the original blanket wrapped sloppily over their shoulders, hands curling in and gripping it tight, as though it were a lifeline and they were a man overboard at sea.

“Oh-kay,” The elemental said, “Do you need anything?”

The child stared at him.

“Hungry? Thirsty? Do you have to use the john?”

More staring.

“Okay, cool. Great communication skills there, kiddo.” He didn’t mean to be malicious with the child, but exhaustion allowed bitterness to slip into his tone. “Can you say something, kid? Please?”

“Brother…” The child said, and Grillby almost missed it for the quality of their voice, so quiet it could seem to be an afterthought. They’d pulled back, away from him, but not quite fearfully, and their eyes didn’t meet his own. Guilt hit him, the impact softened by his exasperation, and he leaned forward to rub his temples and ground himself, the majority of his weight resting on one elbow pressed against a knee.

“Right,” he said, trying to be more sympathetic, “Sorry, Brother. I don’t mean to get frustrated or ignore your name, just… Fuck, how late is it at this point?”

Again the child didn’t respond, but their terse, nervous expression shifted, becoming more judgmental or maybe confused. Grillby wasn’t sure, it was hard to judge in his flickering illumination.

“Sorry,” the bartender repeated, “But it’s bedtime, okay? Do you know what that means? That it’s time to sleep?”

Brother shifted nervously, one hand moving from the blanket to the couch cushion where it scratched against the surface. He nodded, looking off into the distance, and Grillby felt relieved.

“Let’s get you settled in again, then. Unless you need anything?”

No response, but the kid stood, looking down at the blanket he had as if with some internal debate. He looked towards Grillby then immediately away, his actions becoming quick and jittery like some frightened small animal. A bird, perhaps, or a rat. He took a couple steps away from the couch, the blanket dragging on the floor behind him, and Grillby stood to follow him. First, though, the elemental stretched and yawned, expecting to open his eyes to find the child halfway to his bedroom. Instead, Brother was crouching down in front of the cage.

Adrenaline spiked and the elemental burst forward, startling the child in turn. Brother pivoted to face him and tried to jump back simultaneously, jamming himself against the kennel door and the wall behind it. He slid on the blanket, legs tangled in it, and caught himself on the wire of the crate just as Grillby knelt beside him, the bartender’s motions now cautious and guilt-ridden.

“No,” Grillby chanted momentarily, reaching out to help the kid, “no, no, no, we don’t want to do that, okay?”

Tears were already welling in the child’s eyes, though they were obviously trying to suppress them. They pushed away from the bartender to the best of their abilities, and Grillby withdrew slightly, though one hand still hovered below the kid’s unbalanced frame to catch them should they fall. Brother was still for a moment, then shoved firmly off the crate, safely if gracelessly freeing him from his predicament as he folded against the crate door. Coiling into the fetal position, he pulled tighter, knees nearly touching his chin as he covered the rest of his face with boney hands.

“Shit,” Grillby said, “No, uh… Brother, it’s fine. Shh, kiddo-kiddo, I didn’t mean to scare you. You just don’t belong in a damn dog crate, okay?”

He paused, watching as the kid’s shoulder’s hitched with silent sobbing. Goddamn it. Twice now they’d gone for the _fucking cage_ , and the… The worst thing about it was that it seemed almost like a safe zone to them. A place of relative security. 

“Hey,” he said, soft and soothing, “Let’s try this whole bed thing again, okay? It’s alright, I promise. Get some sleep, everything will be better in the morning. C'mon… I’m going to pick you up, alright?”

The kid didn’t answer, and Grillby suspected that they would be unwilling to for a while. He didn’t want them going for the crate again, and he himself was too frayed to offer any more convincing form of comfort. All he could think to do was get the kid to bed again and make sure they actually fell asleep before retreating to the couch. They flinched when he touched him, going immobile and stiff in his arms as he carried them back to the bedroom. Setting them down, there wasn’t any way to cover them with the blanket without covering their face as well, so in the end Grillby just awkwardly tucked the blanket around them.

Sitting on the bed, Grillby stared vacantly at the miserable child for a second, uncertainty thickening his magic and motions like tar. Why couldn’t the guard have come? Taken the kid away and gotten someone better than him to take of them. He didn’t know how to do this. He was making everything worse, he could sense it in his core, the very fiber of his being aching with inadequacy. In one day, how many times had the kid cried now? Or hurt themselves due to his inability to adjust his behavior after the first time? This is why he lived alone now; every time he tried to support someone they ended up more miserable than when they started. All he could do was listen, not even as a friend but as the barkeeper, helping others self-medicate and occasional preventing them from engaging in complete self-destruction.

“Oh, kiddo…” Grillby said, more to himself then the child, “What the hell do I do, huh? I’m fucking sorry.”

Then, “It’s okay, Brother. C’mon, everything’s fine. See? The bed’s a lot better than the dog crate any damn day. Bigger, for one, and _I_ think it’s more comfortable, at least.” 

The bartender reached out, still murmuring gently, to touch the kid’s skull. Again they flinched, but Grillby didn’t let that deter him from running his hand along it, petting the kid just as he had the dog the night he removed the collar. After a time, Brother’s shaking stopped, but white irises still watched warily from behind the barrier of the child’s own folded body and silence reined over the night.

Minutes passed after Grillby ran out of comforting things to say, and eventually the elemental sang again to fill the nothing, his voice lagging as he struggled to remember the lyrics beyond the first five stanzas. It was an old song, this version likely as old as he was, though the elemental doubted it was the original. Lyrics changed over time, the song grew longer and outlined life in the underground, but only this portion and version remained cemented in his mind, the same as he had heard it decades ago while helping monster refugees to the safe haven that Mount Ebott had been during the war…

_Clickity-click-click-rattle_

What? The elemental’s face twitched as he grimaced, a dull annoyance filtering through his impassive cognizance. He tried to filter the noise out, but it was incessant, and for some unknown reason caused anxiety to bloom in the back of his mind, finally prompting him to open his eyes. He was in his bed, but blinked disoriented beyond belief. His picture frame hung above him, he could see its shadow, but that wasn’t right. It should be off to his left, by the-

_Rattle-rattle-rattle_

Grillby bolted upright in his bed, legs still bent over the side from when he’d been sitting earlier. Sitting earlier. Brother. Grillby twisted to see an empty space beside him where the child should lay sleeping, his disorganized fear now forming into panic. Where was Brother? And _what_ was that noise?

_Click-click_

A whine, distant and distressed floated from the living room as the rattling continued. It took Grillby a moment to place it, but when he did his entire body seemed to freeze for a moment, a tremor of dread passing through his core. Someone was at the door – his _front_ door – rattling the doorknob. _Someone_ , but who?

_Whine-rattle-rattle-rattle_

The bartender swallowed, forcing himself upright at his flames dulled with conflicting emotions, the three F’s of fear rising to his throat. Fight was not a natural response, and flight was instantly suppressed as the child came to mind, but his legs seemed to lock under him as he froze up. Another whine, this one louder, and the elemental managed to force himself forward, flaring instinctively as he prepared to face whatever danger lurked in the darkness. He was a daunting sight when properly motivated as he was now, his dangerous appearance backed up by natural aptitude in combat against most types of monsters, but all self-assured notion of his ability to face the monster who’d done _that_ to Brother had vanished. The great _what if_ plagued him, and the elemental was left unprepared, unsteady, and about ready to throw a fireball at the first thing he saw when he finally exited the bedroom.

Rounding the corner, he stopped, staring at the child clawing at the door. They whined again, not seeming even to notice him as they reached for the knob, rattling it loudly as they tried to escape. A pause, and they were down on their hands and knees, scraping fingertips along the bottom of the doorframe, then up along the seam. For whatever reason, they didn’t seem to think to turn the deadbolt, now the only thing containing them.

“Brother?” Grillby said, his voice quiet, constricted by the tightness of the elemental’s chest. The kid still jumped at it, turning to face him and staring at him with their mouth slightly agape. They whimpered, one hand drifting to rattle the doorknob even while they still faced Grillby.

“Brother…” They echoed, “Brother, Brother, Brother, Brother…”

It was like a little chant, cut of abruptly as they broke eye contact, staring down to the floor. They mouthed the word once or twice more, and Grillby watched them, slowly allowing his flame to die down as he inconspicuously looked through the window beside the child for any sign of unknown entities. When he got back to placing his full attention on the kid, they looked like they were crying or about to cry again, balled fists rubbing again and again against their eye sockets.

“Brother,” Grillby said again, “What were you trying to do?”

The kid didn’t say anything, physically swaying as they gestured briefly towards the door. They moaned, then went back to rubbing their eyes. After that, they rattled the doorknob for a second, just one last time before sinking down, back pressed against the door. Grillby approached slowly, and sank down next to them before extending a hand. They didn’t flinch away from it, nor did they seem grateful for the gesture, mostly ignoring it as their arms fell limply to their sides. Meanwhile, Grillby tried to keep breathing, his mind reeling from the fact that Brother was trying to escape. If the kid got out…

“Brother,” He said, “Let’s go back to bed, okay?”

The kid didn’t answer, looking at his own feet. When Grillby moved to wrap his arms around the child, they gave an odd sort of pained huff, causing the elemental to withdraw. Kiddo looked fine. Bushed, a dark limpness cast over their features, but fine.

“Aren’t you tired, kiddo?” He asked. The kid responded with a long sideways glance that seemed to indicate a certain distrust. 

“…Brother…” They said, and Grillby frowned. He was missing something, and a sneaking suspicion prompted him to move again to the window, peering out into the featureless blank. Nothing but snow and empty space, the road through Snowdin a few meters out. The elemental sighed.

“Brother, please…” he said, letting himself trail off. Maybe please and thank you wasn’t the best way to deal with the child? Ideologically he didn’t take well to the idea, but… How fucking late was it right now? And if they did escape what did he do? What would he tell the guard? What if the kid got lost? Hurt? What if something worse happened?

“C’mon,” He said, reaching forward and scooping up the child, “Off to bed, then.”

An unholy sound tore from the child, causing Grillby to stumble as he stood. The kid was struggling, pointed knees and elbows beating against Grillby’s unprotected midsection. He struggled not to drop them, handling the kid a little roughly as he set them down again. Instantly, the kid was pounding at the door, the sound of delicate, juvenile bone impacting against the door making Grillby cringe. Something between a scream and a growl still came from the child, wavering as they ran out of breath before gasping in again. They were hysterical, and the sound of their arm contacting with the metal doorknob caused them to howl with new pain even as they continued to batter the door. The elemental swung forward, crudely pulling the kid back and grabbing their arms as they continued to struggle.

“No!” They shouted once, after he had lifted them off their feet, “Brother! Brother!”

Grillby stood for a moment, shocking and clueless how to proceed as Brother kicked against his legs. Their free hand was clawing at him savagely, the tips of their fingers surprisingly sharp, and he grabbed their wrist when the wandering limb started hitting against his neck. The kid was still yelling, and Grillby couldn’t think, he just took the child into the TV area. Somehow they got half loose, and he ended up partially dragging them the last couple steps before swinging them upwards, letting them land with a solid _oof_ into the couch cushions. It barely slowed the kid, and the bartender had to crouch down quickly to keep them from hurtling out of the seat.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, “Calm down, I’m not-”

The child broke him off with a hiss, gathering their limbs up beneath them like an animal. They arched their back and hissed again, drawing one arm up in front of them and slamming it down onto the cushions in anger, then the other. It was a show, a display to warn him away before they attacked.

“Brother, easy- don’t do that, just try to-”

This time when they drew their arm up, a small, jagged bone formed behind them. It was ragged, made with the magic of a wounded mind, testament to the child’s current unthinking state. It glowed an ethereal blue, joined by others as the kid prepared to attack him, and Grillby drew back instinctively before stopping himself. They were just a kid – and a panicked one at that – what were the chances they’d do any real damage?

…Honestly, he wasn’t sure. But he’d rather not admit that to himself.

“ **Brother, stop.** ” He said, and for the first time since the child transformed his voice went deep and stern and commanding. “ **No.** ”

The kid froze, eyes going wide and blank before they scrambled backwards into the corner of the couch. They were staring at him with horror, shaking, and Grillby just watched for a moment, trying to gauge his best action. One of the kid’s trembling hands gripped against the pillow he’d brought out to sleep on, then both, and shortly afterwards the kid hugged tightly against it, putting the pillow between them and the elemental like a protective barrier as they panted and mouthed words soundlessly.

“What are you saying?” Grillby asked eventually, his voice carefully controlled but no longer with an edge to it.

The child whined, then, “Bad. Failure. Disobedient. Unresponsive. Bad. Low aggression. Bad. Disobeyed commands. Contrary. Unpredicted. Bad. Loner. Beta. Bad. Pack reject. Bad. Scapegoat. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Ba-”

“Shhh,” Grillby cut them off, before the child’s voice grew too loud. His mind was racing, an unsteady sense of confusion overwhelming rational thought. Disobeyed commands… Beta? Pack reject? What in the pits of hell was the kid talking about…

“Hush, don’t… just don’t.”

The kid leaned away from his encroaching hand, the words dying down to the simple movement of air. Grillby didn’t touch the kid, thought better of it, and instead withdrew to sit on his knees in front of the child. Were they good? They seemed better. Maybe. Or maybe not. They whined, arms wrapping again around the pillow and wriggled further back, before they abruptly stopped staring at him and shut their eyes tight, like they had something in them. They mouthed a word again, over and over, and Grillby felt his core sinking.

“Don’t say that,” he said, but the child just continued. Keeping the kid from saying it wouldn’t fix anything, anyway. “Kiddo – Brother, tell me, please. What’s bad? What can I do to help? You can’t… I can’t just let you leave, not after how I found you. You get that, right?”

“ _Bad. Bad. Bad._ ” was the response left unvocalized.

Grillby rubbed his face and groaned, looking at the clock. 4:30 am. The dogs normally got to his restaurant by 8, so if he could just keep the kid alright a few more hours maybe – hopefully – help would arrive. He looked at the kid a while, then got onto the couch beside them, waited and watched. They weren’t out of breath anymore, just clinging to the pillow, eyes shut and teeth now clenched in silence. Eventually he reached out again, rubbing the shoulder nearest to his slightly.

The kid’s eyes popped open in an almost comedic fashion, and they adjusted themselves further away from the flame. He let them go, let his hand fall to the seat of the couch as he watched them and they stared back, eyes black pits like the abyss itself. Outside it was already getting lighter, faintly. The light from the CORE could only be masked for so long before heat built up.

“Brother?” he asked, and the kid flinched. Then, slowly, cautiously, they leaned forward and let go of the pillow. Crouched on all fours, they watched him again then, suddenly leapt off the couch. Grillby jumped forward in response, but the kid had already stopped, standing on all fours and looking at him. Seconds passed, then they moved, crawling slowly and surprisingly gracefully across the room. Grillby stood to follow, but he only took a couple steps by the time the kid reached their destination, disappearing around the corner and into the dog crate.

Grillby stopped, gaze falling slowly to the floor. He knew where they were because of the sound their bones made against the metal mesh as they made themselves _comfortable_ , if you wanted to call it that, and had to lean against the wall for a moment. This kid. Fuck.

Eventually he came forward, bent down, tried to talk with them, but they were unresponsive. When he reached in, they scrambled further back, and eventually he just sat at the opening and stared in, thinking. He didn’t know what was going on. One minute the kid was trying to escape, then attack him, now they wouldn’t come out of the cage and… 

And maybe that was the best place for them. They didn’t hurt themselves there, and he needed them to stay put… Grillby felt ill. No, no. Nope. That just… was _fucked _. This whole thing was fucked and somehow it kept getting fuckeder.__

___Bad. Failure. Disobedient._ _ _

__The child had gone still, seeming to relax after he stopped trying to disturb them, but he didn’t think that they were sleeping. Grillby thought he could still see their eyelights occasionally when he peered through the crate door. Reaching forward, he grabbed the door’s latch and squeezed down experimentally, causing a fine power of rust to fall free of the locking mechanisms. _Cree-chick_ , was the high metallic squeak of wires rubbing against each other, _Cree-chick, Cree-chick_ … _ _

__The elemental closed his eyes and stole himself for a moment before swinging the door._ _

___Cree-chick_ …_ _

__He caught the door as it fell, fingers laced through the wire. It was an interesting cage, the style of which allowed one to open the door from either side. Useful, he’d been told, for people who deal with a large number of animals with varying temperaments. He’d never had many animals, but he was grateful for the feature none the less. The crate door rattled after he let it thud onto the coffee table, sitting on the loveseat to wait and watch the little skeleton huddled in the doorless cage._ _

__Grillby still hated that the kid was in there at all._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from [The Greatest Torture](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egptlC4rKOc).
> 
> TIMELINE GOES HERE ONE DAY...


	16. Hay Isn’t All Horses Eat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kid eats oatmeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be very random. Having issues with school and mental state. I’m fine, will continue this and will manage to survive school.
> 
> Comments on the story would be appreciated. Thanks for reading.

“Kiddo?” Grillby asked again, hesitantly reaching into the cage, “Brother?”

No response. The child was still and silent, hunched over and curled around the bedding they had in the cage. The blankets and towels were wadded up tightly, giving the small skeletal form something to cling to. Were they really asleep like that? Must be, since they didn’t flinch when he touched their shoulder.

The bartender pulled back, sighing and looking momentarily to the door. There were things he had to get from the bar at this point, and frankly he was hoping that during the brief tour through town he might see one of the guards. Normally at least one of them stayed near central Snowdin, and he was regularly able to see them through the bar’s windows while working. If things were slow, sometimes he’d run something hot to drink out to them; after all, the canine unit were good people, and it never hurt to have good standing with the guard.

Turning his attention back to the child, Grillby reached into the cage again. He probably could leave and come back without them waking up, but he didn’t want to risk that. Sure, he had the cage door on the table, too, but no way in hell was he locking the kid inside just for convenience.

When he shook them gently, the bartender got only a slight stirring in response. Kid was dead to the world, he realized, just as he would like to be. Maybe he should forget about the bar and crawl into bed right now while he had the chance. The thought was tempting, but inviable, so Grillby leaned in with his other hand to pick the child up.

As his hands wrapped around their ribcage right below the arms, Grillby was struck again by the size of the child. They weren’t small, as far as he could tell, though honestly he had no guess as to their age. But holding them like this… they really were just a goddamn kid, and because of this Grillby found himself handing them with even greater care as he lifted them up.

He nearly had them out before Brother awoke, limbs splaying for a moment as he tried to catch himself instinctively. The child whimpered, jamming their limbs against the lip of the cage, fingers winding around metal to lock themselves in place. A keening whine cut through the air, so high pitched and hushed it could almost be ignored as both the child and the elemental froze, both holding firmly to what they had within their grasps.

It was a beat before Grillby found something to say, starting lamely with a simple, “Hey, kiddo.”

The child’s grip tightened on the wire as their torso flexed beneath his hand as they tried experimentally to assess his grip on them. After a moment, they stopped, attempting to turn their head far enough to see him while maintaining their purchase on the cage. The whine died off, replaced by terse silence.

“Got some things to do today,” Grillby continued, “I need you to come with me, just like before. You know, we’ll go to the bar for a little while…”

He shifted his grip to hold the child with one hand, running the other slowly to their hand.

“You can stay in the room in back if you want, or you can come out and help me find some things. I need to pick up some more food, you know? I did make you some oatmeal, though… It’s really all I have left in the house.”

There was surprisingly little resistance as Grillby set to work uncoiling fingers, the arm falling limply to the child’s side once he undid their grip.

“This’ll only be a short little trip. Maybe an hour? Then we’ll come back home and, uh…” Grillby tried to think of something the kid seemed to honestly enjoy, “And maybe watch a little more television? How’s that sound?”

He unclasped the other hand just as gently as the first, holding it and guiding it out unlike the first, which had struck the bottom edge of the crate with a brief but painful sounding scrape. The kid remained still, body tense but pliable as Grillby ran out of things to say, instead leaning over the child to reach their legs and pull them out of the cage as well. For a moment, he cradled Brother, wondering if he should just carry the kid to the table before setting the child down beside him.

For a moment, the child just stared at him. Then, sudden as a flare of magic, they were crawling towards the cage again. Grillby caught one of their shoulders, pulling them carefully away from the crate as a displeased breath escaped them. The kid let themselves be repositioned, not looking at the bartender or anything, really, as they were pushed into a sitting position, Grillby’s hands on either shoulder.

“Brother?” Grillby said, and when the boy did not respond, he chose simply to move on, “Are you hungry?”

No gestures, no noise, not even a flicker of recognition in the child’s eyes. Grillby took a deep breath in before exhaling slowly, his magic swirling nervously within him. Carefully, he extended a thread of curiosity towards the child, asking, “Are you alright?”

The kid pulled back, out of the bartenders grasp, but didn’t move further than that, crossing their arms in front of them as though to cover their soul. A strong pulse of displeasure resonated through their thin connection, and Grillby himself withdrew, looking at the kid with creased eyebrows. They were staring intently as the floor, looking for all the world as if they were chilled to the bone.

“Kiddo?” He said, offering a hand, “C’mon, huh?”

There was a pause, but eventually the child’s eyes drifted to the bright appendage, treating it with roughly the same gaze as one might judge venomous snake with. Grillby forced what he hoped was a friendly expression, moving from his kneeling position to more of a crouch so he could stand.

“Can I have your hand?” He asked, and slowly but obediently the child complied. Grillby drew to his full height slowly, careful not to scare the child or pull on their arm before gazing down on them. Holding their hand as steady purchase, he waited for them to stand as well before leading the child to the table. They waited patiently as he brought them food, though stared at it for a few moments before looking up at him questioningly.

“Are you hungry? It’s oatmeal… I, uh…” Grillby struggled for a moment, “I won’t say it’s good, exactly, but it’s all I got right now.”

They looked back at the bowl with a tight little frown.

“Give it a try,” Grillby encouraged, “It’s not bad, either. Just a bit plain.”

Gently, the kid reached forward and touched the bowl before pulling back and looking at him again. A shameful glance away, and then they fiddled with the spoon a moment. The kid paused abruptly, then, slowly and with the very tips of their fingers pressed the bowl away from themselves with a scraping sound against the table.

“Not hungry?” Grillby asked, though he was quite certain based by expression that they were, earning a weak shake of the head from the child.

“Then why don’t you eat?”

“Was bad,” the kid said, though their words were high-pitched and nasal.

“No, no, no…” Grillby tried to soothe, but Brother only flinched at each syllable as he moved the bowl back closer to the child, “You weren’t bad. You can go ahead and eat, alright? After all, it’s perfectly good food that shouldn’t go to waste. You might as well eat it.”

The child looked at him with something akin to horror, and Grillby quickly changed strategies to simple reassurance.

“You’re a good kid, Brother. You were just a little confused, everyone’s that way sometimes, right? So you can go ahead and eat. Here-” Grillby snagged an abandoned piece of silverware from his own meager breakfast before taking a small bite of the oatmeal, which sizzled uncomfortably in his mouth a moment before he swallowed. For a time he felt in inside him, before the heat of his center evaporated the water and burnt what little remained, “See? It’s great… just like you?”

The bartender shifted and scratched at the back of his neck, voice tinged with uncertainty. Was he doing this right? “Yeah, um… You’re great, so stop worrying about being bad, kiddo. You should have something to eat.”

The child considered him with a frown for several seconds before taking a small bite, watching Grillby intently as he did so. The kid chewed, then made a small sound of approval after swallowing and looked down to the food. Grillby sighed, relaxing slightly as the child went on to take another bite. Good. He could sit down, then, wait for them to finish. More than four hours had passed since his rather rude awakening, and he’d already left the guard two more messages over that time and moved some of the waterlogged objects around in the guest bedroom. Last night was just all sorts of bad, wasn’t it? Not that it mattered, he couldn’t do much about the past, just keep taking care of the kid until the guard came.

They had to come eventually, right? Maybe he should call the main branch in the capitol. But then, did he really want to explain the whole story to strangers? The canine unit… at least they’d heard him complaining about his trash and had even helped him pick out food for his “puppy”. His story wouldn’t sound nearly as insane. Then again, making the kid wait any longer really wasn’t fair… 

Grillby covered his face with his hands, moving his glasses to rub his eyes in frustration. He was so goddamn tired, too, it was hard to think about all this. He glanced at the child, still eating, before leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

Was he asleep? Brother wasn’t certain, but Bartender’s eyes had been closed a while now and his expression had softened into something weary but unaware. They considered trying to get his attention, but then thought better of it, turning instead to eat another spoonful of the ‘oatmeal’.

Vague recognition had surfaced as soon as they saw what was in the bowl, tan gruel much the same as the stuff Brother got after sleep days. It was smoother though, with less liquid and more sweet to it. It tasted… improved. Yes, that was the right word, wasn’t it? Brother took a moment to whisper it under his breath. Yes, it was. When something was more good.

Or, no. Brother changed his mind. Bartender had a word for that too, one he used a lot but also meant other things. Better. Hmm. Was better a better word? Was that a stupid thing to think? Probably.

Just as he finished thinking about words, Brother found himself staring at the last of the oatmeal. He’d really eaten more then he meant to, but the small amount that remained was still better than nothing, so he stopped eating and stared at it, sitting in the table. He nearly jumped when Bartender spoke, asking if he was done, and nearly growled when the bowl was taken away.

Not asleep, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the “Hay/Hey is what horses eat” joke. Because it’s not funny and neither is this title. Plus, horses eat oats. Mmmm. Oats.
> 
> TIMELINE


	17. Charlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unintended visits, unintended consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I considered copy/pasting bad song lyrics here.

“Bread, cheese, canned soup…” Grillby murmured under his breath, packing what food he’d deemed appropriate into an old sack. Yes, yes, that was all well and good, but didn’t he have anything actually nutritious? He shouldn’t be feeding a child crap like this. But vegetables were hard to come by, and… Goddamn, he was supposed to meet with Kurt, his Vegetoid supplier yesterday, wasn’t he?

Heaving another sigh, Grillby cast a glace into the back room. The child was resting again, curled on their side on the couch. At first they’d just laid there and stared at nothing, but now their eyes had closed, their breathing long and even. That was good, right? One less thing to worry about? Grillby wasn’t so sure; every time he laid eyes on the child he felt his soul hitch painfully in his chest.

Well, anyway, if he couldn’t find food for the child he could at least grab the tools he needed to patch up that hole in the guest bedroom. They had to be here, but where would he have put them? Under the sink? No, just cleaning supplies… Floor of the pantry? Yes, there they were, tucked against the doorframe. Perfect.

_Ding-ding_

The noise seemed to freeze the elemental, and for a moment he just stood in the middle of his kitchen, toolbox in hand. Was that the guard? No, they would’ve announced themselves by now. What if it was someone else looking for-?

Grillby swallowed, checking to see the child was still asleep before heading for the front.

“We’re closed.” Grillby said, quickly pushing through the swinging door. His voice was deeply inflected, not inviting of question or comment, and he froze awkwardly when he realized who his visitor was.

“Then why does the sign say ‘open’?” Bailey asked, one ear quirked to the side, “You forget to turn it off?”

“Yeah.” Grillby said, “Shit. Um, can you-?”

Bailey bent to unplug the sign, the neon flickering for a moment before it went dim, the red light fading like a dying coal. She stood again, making no motion to move towards the door. Instead she cast her gaze over Grillby in a slow, analytical way that caused the disheveled elemental’s core to quicken.

“Well,” She said, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” The bartender replied curtly, hoping the rabbit would take the hint and leave.

“You’re welcome.” She responded with an equally frigid tone. For a while, they just stood and stared at each other. Eventually Bailey cleared her throat, her voice somewhat softer when she asked, “You feeling alright? Like, are you sick or something? It’s not like you to close up for a whole day like that.”

“I’m fine.” Grillby said, “Thanks for the concern.”

Bailey squinted at him before walking forward to lean against one of the barstools, causing the rusted metal hinge to creak dramatically. She clearly had no intention of leaving anytime soon, not without answers to questions he knew he had no answer for. Besides, he didn’t really have time for this. What was the expression? Hurry up and wait? Yeah, that’s what he had to do. Eventually the guard would come.

“What are the tools for?”

“My roof,” Grillby said abruptly, his mind too preoccupied to respond with anything more eloquent than, “It’s leaking.”

“Uh-huh.” Bailey said, “Well, that sucks.”

“Yep.”

“If you want, I could talk to my nephew. I know he’s a little young, but he loves that kind of work. You could pay him pennies and he’d still do a good job just for the experience, since he wants to go into that kind of stuff when he’s older.”

Grillby frowned. Normally, he’d jump on an offer like that, but with the kid…

“No thank you, I think I’ve got it handled.”

“You sure? I mean, he’d probably do it for free. Like I say, the kid wants to be on the housing crew. He needs to start somewhere. Well, not start, he’s been doing things for his dad for ages, but… You know. Get references outside of the family.”

“I appreciate that, but I, uh…” Grillby scoffed and swallowed, “I could use the fresh air.”

“Right.” Bailey said, bitter again, “You look like it.”

Grillby simply shrugged at that. 

Bailey frowned. “How’s the dog?”

“Uh.”

“Grillby?”

“It’s… a dog?”

Should he tell her? Bailey, she knew… Well, no, she didn’t know much about kids if what her sister said was true. But she had to be better than him... The elemental was thinking all this, just sort of staring at her when the rabbit closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“So, you got rid of it, then?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not great at lying, Grillby. You don’t have the dog anymore, do you?”

Finally Grillby moved, setting the tool box on the floor with a thud. 

“You don’t understand,” He blurted, frustration bleeding into his tone. Hands up, half extended, half defensive as he took a step towards her, trying to figure out what to continue with. 

“I don’t need to. It’s your goddamn business, after all.”

She was getting up already, standing, heading for the door. How the hell did she manage to sound so disappointed in him? That, he’d never know, but before she got out the door he managed to ask, “Hey, Bailey?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen the guard around?”

Bailey’s ears twitched, but she didn’t turn towards him, one paw on the door. “Why? You gunna tell them about the dog?”

“Uh, yeah.” It really was best she didn’t know, right?

“I haven’t seen them around for a couple days. Guess they went towards the barrier, training or something? I dunno… But a lot of the guards were called out there recently.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem Grillby. Take care.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Grillby alone in his bar. He regretted not explaining the circumstances to her, but really, what was there that he could say? He didn’t dwell on it for long, turning his thoughts instead to the information she’d revealed.

The guards were called towards the barrier, huh?

Grillby stood listlessly for a while, contemplating exactly what that meant. It couldn’t be training. That happened locally in regional tournaments for each unit. Had something happened? Was the king in danger? Or did something happen to the barrier? Grillby let out a short sigh to himself, chastising himself for the stray thought sparking some flicker of hope within his core.

Even if the meeting was about the barrier, it was just as likely to be bad news as good. It could be getting thicker, or encroaching on what small space monster kind had in the underground. Hell, maybe the barrier _was_ breaking… with an army of humans behind it prepared to whip out the last stragglers trapped here in the dark.

“Heh, well…” Grillby said, letting himself trail off since the room was empty. At least he knew where the guard was, even if that didn’t give him any information on when they’d be able to come for the kid. Same plan as ever, then - keep the kid safe and wait. How long could he go like that, though? He’d have to call Kurt later, apologize, and maybe offer payment for goods he didn’t even receive if the vegetables spoilt before Kurt could find another place to sell them.

Crap. Still, it was better than nothing. Maybe tonight he’d try to get a look at the leak in the roof if the kid would let him, but he’d need to get Brother to relax again before he tried that. The last thing he needed was for the boy to run off while he was up on the roof, especially without shoes or a coat… Grillby had no doubt that if the kid wanted to make a break for it, they wouldn’t even think about those types of items. After all, they were naked when he found them, and the first time he’d given them a shirt they’d just sat there like they didn’t know what to do with it.

Stooping, Grillby picked the tool kit up and headed to the back again, doing a quick survey of the food he had gathered. It wasn’t much, but it should keep body and soul together for a few days at the very least. There was even some burger “meat” that was still good, though often Grillby questioned the contents of the small brown parcels. Pre-ground, who really knew what could be in it? He always bought the best products he could afford, but what did that really mean? After all, the underground didn’t lend itself well to raising cattle. Goats were easier since they had a less restrictive diet, but butchering them had light stigma attached to it due to the characteristics of the royal family bloodline.

Regardless, burgers for tonight’s meal seemed a welcome idea. Grillby knew he made a damn fine burger, even if the meat was of questionable meatiness, and something hot, greasy, and delicious seemed like exactly the sort of comfort food he should offer the child right now. He did have plenty of potatoes left; they grew well in the low light of the underground and were practically immortal by food standards so long as you kept them cool and dry. And in Snowdin, “cool” was rarely hard to come by. Thinking of this, Grillby reconsidered some lettuce he’d deemed too wilted earlier… The core of it might still be good, certainly enough to get the kid something green on his plate, at least. He had a can of olives, too. Did kids like olives? He didn’t know, and decided to hold off on that idea for now, though he did slip the can into the sack for later.

Satisfied with the items he’d collected, he wandered to the back room, stalling near the doorway instead of approaching the child. They looked peaceful now, and a part of him didn’t want to ruin that just yet. Looking around the room, he took a thin blanket – more of a shawl, really, something perhaps a customer had left – and draped it over the child before moving back to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, closed his eyes and let his thoughts go still, if only for a moment before forcing himself forward again.

Okay, the kid would be fine in his care for a few days. How long was it to the barrier, anyway? Only a day or two walking, of course you could get there quicker via boat, but Grillby couldn’t see all six of the canine unit piling in. Not with Greater Dog alone taking up an entire row of seats. Still… 

Who did _that_ to a child? Were they looking for them? And without the guard, there was no way Grillby himself could avoid conflict. A part of him was less offended by that than he’d like, the thought of burning the bastard to a crisp rising fury and riotousness within his core. A larger portion, however, was tired and afraid. Exhausted? 

Yes, exhausted. Dealing with Brother had exhausted him, and he could only imagine how the child felt. Grillby groaned at himself from the back of his throat, reviewing the events so far. Cages, tears, panic. He needed to… to what? Be softer with the child? More patient? Grillby liked to think of himself as a patient man, but he knew he cast a biased light.

After they headed home, what could he do with the kid? Watch more T.V.? It worked like a charm last time, but it didn’t really have him in an active role interacting with the child. Of course, the thought terrified him. Talking to the kid? Talking to the dog had been so much easier…

A thought stuck him, and he stood straighter before hurrying to the front counter. Children’s menus, of course! They were expensive to get, even made of cheap paper and cheaper ink, the sort that sometimes smeared while being printed, but enough people brought their children into the bar provided it was before happy hour to be worth it. He even had some old ones, from each menu change, which had different pictures and puzzles on them. Perfect.

Adding those to the pile sack of goods, Grillby busied himself sorting through the remaining food to throw out what was rotting. By the time that was done, he had to take out the trash, re-righting the trashcan quickly before removing the bungee cord and stuffing the bag in. Resecuring the lid, he popped up the stairs to go back inside with slightly more confidence then he had before. Just a kid, just a few days, he could manage that. He could-

Brother twisted backwards, out of the way of the door, startled footing causing them half-fall-half-slide to their knees.

“Woah, Kiddo! Are you-?”

A growl interrupted Grillby, low and stressed, causing him to fall silent. The kid’s eyes not even vaguely looking at him but past him, through the open door. What were they- Grillby moved to close it, realizing the kid was gauging if they could dart past. It slammed against the frame far harder than he had intended, the action and the noise seeming to snap the child’s attention _up_ , to his face. Crestfallen, hallow eyes looked at him for a fraction of a second before there was fear, and the kid scrambled backwards.

“Hey-” Grillby started, but that sounded too harsh, making the child flinch again. Softer, trying not to let his voice go as frantic as the child’s movements, “Woah, there. Easy, stop before you hurt yourself, huh?”

Brother froze, in that uncanny, staring way he often did. There was a pause, and slowly Grillby eased himself down to the floor, too. Two pinpricks of light followed him, boring into his flame 

“You okay?”

The kid cocked their head, but other than that they didn’t even blink.

“Are you hurt?”

A long, silent pause, then the kid shook their head. Something in their expression had shifted to become slightly perplexed, and Grillby felt almost relieved.

“Sorry, I couldn’t see you when I opened the door…” He considered adding to that, asking what the kid was doing or even just commenting that he thought they had been asleep. Instead, he decided to leave well enough alone. He stood and made motion to take a step towards the kid, reach out to help them up and they winced. Fear bloomed across their face again, if muted, their head hunching down until it was nearly beneath their shoulders, hips tucked down in a way that looked decidedly uncomfortable, and Grillby stopped, sighed, and carefully walked past them and into the kitchen.

Brother turned to watch him leave, pausing after he stopped and leaned against the wall as if analyzing the situation. Grillby did the same, waiting a beat just to think as he watched the child sprawled out on all fours like an animal. Eventually, the kid edged forward towards the door, making slight sniffing sounds that Grillby could barely hear. Were they just curious, then? Or was he missing something? A few seconds passed and the child had only crawled along, smelling the corner and the edge of the door before Grillby decided he should put an end to it.

“Brother?” The kid looked at him, their scrutiny cautious but even, “We should, um… Actually, how about you come with me? Come sit down?”

Wrinkled eyebrows, but this time the kid was more compliant when Grillby came forward and offered his hand. He led them to the dining room, lifting them gently and without protest onto a bar stool, where they sat stiffly, waiting. The bartender frowned slightly, still not sure what he was doing, and put a napkin between he and the kid before snagging a heavy handful of peanuts from the large bowl on the counter and setting them on the center of it. It filled some of the silence, allowed him a bit of time to further formulate his thoughts.

When he noticed the kid just sort of looking at the peanuts, he cracked one open for them without thinking about it too much, then one for himself. Normally he’d just eat the nut, shell and all, but with this kid that seemed like a bad idea. With the soft sounds of the kid chewing in the background, he let himself zone out and think, just for a second, and when he turned back Brother was looking at him almost… Almost what? Happy? Kid was an emotional rollercoaster, Grillby decided, followed by quick admission of who wouldn’t be like that.

The quick flash of eye lights to the peanut pile before they met his eyes again told Grillby the kid wanted more. He forced a quick grin of acknowledgement before handing the kid an unopened one then demonstrated wordlessly how to crush open the shell.

“Good job,” He said, when the kid successfully mimicked him, and Brother made a small contented sound, shifting on the chair. Finally, Grillby stopped leaning against the counter and sat down next to the kid, sinking his weight into one of the padded read leather seats. God, they were ugly, but they were sturdy and matched, and in the underground that seemed nearly a miracle.

“So, kiddo, you’re going to be staying with me, okay?”

Brother looked over to him, expression falling slightly as his attention was taken away from the peanut pressed between his digits.

“Like, a good bit longer then I thought you would. A few days, at least.”

Brother gave him a blank expression, growing slowly more reserved.

“Do you get what that means?”

Nothing. Grillby sighed.

“Okay, point is, uh… Do you want anything? Need anything? I mean…”

The kid was looking mildly unsettled now, and Grillby wondered if it was because of the tone of his voice. Even after he fell silent, the boy watched him like a hawk, and Grillby thought that if he tried to touch the boy he’d probably pull back again. He fiddled with his hands under the gaze, then reached for a peanut of his own. The kid shifted in his seat and Grillby turned to see him all hunched over, but _towards_ him, waiting expectantly.

This time it only took a beat before the bartender reached out slowly to run a hand across the small, thin cranium. After a few minutes of this, he stood, asking the kid if it was alright to pick them up. When he doesn’t get an answer, he just does and everything’s fine until he tried moving out of the room and the kid whimpers, just a little. Grillby stops, looks at the boy, follows their gaze, and the kid’s staring at the peanuts like a dog at a milk bone.

He wraps them up in the napkin and gives them to the kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This Chapter ends Arc 2 “ _Grillby and The Child_ ”. Buckle your fucking seatbelts, because the next arc is“ _Doctor and Patient_ ” and will *finally* introduce the other brother.**
> 
> **Chapter title is from Charlie Brown, because PEANUTS, LOLOLOLOLO (I’m sorry).**

**Author's Note:**

>  **Hello again!** ~~It’s me again, Hank the cowdog…~~
> 
> So, did you like the story? Or at least what’s been posted of it so far? I hope so! If not, please feel free to leave some constructive criticism in the comments section. All comments are always incredibly, incredibly welcome!
> 
>  **Now, I would be quite remiss if I didn’t thank a few people at the end here, including…**  
>  KeetahSpacecat, for making this fantastic AU!  
> [Kei (adakie)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/adakie/pseuds/Kei), for writing Whispers in the Dark (go read it) and making me go, “Hmm… What if Grillby just found a dog and tried to take care of it himself and then PLOTTWIST, GRILLBY YOU’RE DADBY NOW! DEAL WITH IT! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”  
>  And finally, [doodlelou ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlelou/pseuds/doodlelou), who is my _fucking amazing_ beta reader who deserves shit tons of love and attention because she’s amazing. Also, just, like, go read her bookmarks. They’re all really good fics.  
>  *Is possibly biased.*
> 
>  **Anyway, thank you for reading!** I hope you have an absolutely amazing, wonderful day!
> 
> [EDIT 8/26/2016] **This fic now has a flippipy-frackin' audio version over on Soundcloud thanks to the amazing[eyeless_artist](https://soundcloud.com/eyeless-artist)!**


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